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Hugh Latimer, BisJwp of Worcester, to Lord Cromwell, on the birth
of the Prlnce of Wales (afterward Edward VL).

FKOM THE NATIONAL MANUSCRIPTS PKESEKVED BY THE BKITISH GOVERNMENT.

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Hugh Latimer, B/'sJwp of Worcester, to Lord Cromwell, on the birth
0/ ^/ic Prince of Wales (^aftenvard Edward VL).

FROM THE NATIONAL MANUSCEIPTS PRESEIIVEI) BY THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT.

Rvglit lionorable, Scdiitem in Christo Jesn, and S3T here 3's no Icsse
joynge and rejossynge in thes partees for the byrtli of onr prynce, hooni
we liungnrde for so longe, then tlier was (I trow), inter vicinos att the
byrth of S. I. Baptyste, as th3-s berer, Master Erance, can telle you. Gode
gyffc us alle grace, to j-elde dew thankes to our Lorde Gode, Gode of
Inglonde, for vereh' He hathe shoyd Ilyni seltf Gode of Inglonde, or rather
an Inglyssh Gode, yf we consydyr and pondyr welle alle Ha's procedynges
with US from tyme to tyme. lie hath overcumme alle our yllnesse with
Hys exced^-nge goodnesse, so that we ar now moor then compellyd to serve
Hym, seke Hys glory, promott Hys wnrde, yf the Devylle of alle Devylles
be natt in us. We have now the stooppe of vayne trustes ande the ste}- of
vayne expectations; lett us alle pray for hys preservatione. Ande I for
my partt wylle w_yssh that hys Grace allwaj's have, and evyn now from the
begynynge, Governares, Instructores and off^'ceres of ryght jugmente, 7ie
optimum ingenium non optima educatione depravetiir.

Butt whatt a grett fowlle am I ! So, whatt devotione shoyth many tymys
butt lytelle d3'scretione ! Ande thus the Gode of Inglonde be ever with
you in alle your proced3-nges.

The 19 of October.

Youres, II. L. B. of Wurcestere, now att Hartlebury.

Yf 3'ou wofde excytt tin's berere to be moore hartj-e a^-en the abuse of
ymagry or nior forwarde to promotte the veryte, 3'tt m3'ght doo goode.
Natt that ytt came of me, butt of 3our seltfe, &c.

[Addressed] To the Ryght Honorable Loorde P. Sealle hys synguler gode Lorde.

THE

Prince and the Pauper

^ ©AliE

FOR YOUNG PEOPLE OF ALL AGES

MARK TWA I N

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WITH ONE HUNDRtt AND NiNETV-TWO ILLUilRATlONS

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BOSTON

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY

1882

W YORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

AerWI, UNOK AM*

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FRANKLIN PRESS:

ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY,

BOSTON.

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THOSE GOOD-MANNERED AND AGREEABLE CHILDREN,

SUSIE AND CLARA CLEMENS,

%\yi^ llBoofe

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

BY THEIR FATHER.

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The quality of mercy . . .

is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in tlie mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.

Merchant of Venice.

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COISTTEI^TS.

CHAPTEB PAGE

I. The Birth of the Prince and the Pauper . . . . .23

II. Tom's Early Life . . . . . 27

III. Tom's Meeting with the Prince 37

IV. The Prince's Troubles begin 49

V. Tom as a Patrician 57

VI. Tom receives Instructions 73

VII. Tom's First Koyal Dinner 89

VIII. The Question of the Seal 97

IX. The River Pageant 103

X. The Prince in the Toils 109

XI. At Guildhall 123

XII. The Prince and His Deliverer 133

XIII. The Disappearance of the Prince 151

XIV. " Le Roi est mort — Vive le Roi" 161

XV. Tom as King 179

XVI. The State Dinner 195

XVII. Foo-Foo THE First i 203

XVIII. The Prince avitii the Tramps 223

XIX. The Prince with the Peasants 237

XX. The Prince and the Hermit 247

XXI. IIendon to the Rescue 259

XXII. A Victim of Treachery 269

XXIII. The Prince a Prisoner 2S1

12 COJS^TENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

XXIY. The Escape 289

XXV. Hendox Hall 295

XXYI. Disowned 309

XXVII. Ix Peison ,317

XXVIII. The Sacrifice 333

XXIX. To London 341

XXX. Tom's Progkess 347

XXXI. The Recognition Procession 353

XXXII. Coronation Day 365

XXXIII. Edward as King 385

CONCLUSION, Justice and Retribution 399

NOTES .405

List of Illusteatioi^s.

Page

The Great Seal (frontispiece) 8

The Bikth of the Prince and the Pauper (half-title) 21

"Splendid Pageants and Great Bonfires"' 23

Tom's Early Life (lialf-title) 25

Offal Court 28

"With any Miserable Crust" 29

"He often read the Priest's Books" 30

"Saw Poor Anne Askew burned" 31

"Brought their Perplexities to Tom" . . 32

"Longing for the Pork-Pies" 33

Toil's Meeting with the Prince (half-title) 35

"At Temple Bar" 37

"Let him in ! " ... 39

" How Old be These ? " 41

"Doff thy Kags, and don these Splendors" .43

"i salute your gracious highness !" 40

The Prince's Troubles begin (half-title) 47

"Set upon by Dogs" 50

"A Drunken Ruffian collared hiji" 52

Tom as a Patrician (half-title) 55

"Next he drew the Sword" 57

"Resolved to fly" 58

"The Boy was on his Knees" .... • 59

"Great Nobles walked upon Each Side of him" 01

"He dropped upon his Knees" 02

" He turned with Joyful Face " 04

"The Physician bowed low" 65

14 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page

'The King felt> back upon his Couch" 07

'Is THIS Man to live forever?" 68

Tom receives Instructions (half-title) 71

'Prithee, insist not" 73

' The Lord St. John made Reverence " 75

Hertford and the Princesses .77

'She made Reverence" 79

'Offered it to him on a Golden Salver" 80

'They mused a while" 82

'Peace, my Lord, thou utterest Treason!" 83

'He began to pace the Floor" 84

Tom's First Royal Dinner (half-title) 87

'Fastened a Napkin about his Neck" . 89

'Tom ate with his Fingers" 91

'He gravely took a Draught" 92

'Tom put on the Greaves" 93

The Question of the Seal (half-title) 95

'The Attendants eased him back upon his Pilloavs" 98

The River Pageant (half-title) 101

'A Troop of Halberdiers appeared in the Gateway" .... 104

'Tom Canty stepped into View" 106

The Prince in the Toils (half-title) 107

'A DIM Form sank to the Ground" 110

'Who art thou?" Ill

'Sent him staggering into Goodwife Canty's Arms" .... 113

' She BENT HEEDFULLY AIJD WARILY OVER HIM" 115

' The Prince sprang up " 116

'Hurried him along the Dark Way" 118

'He WASTED NO Time" 120

At Guildhall (half-title) 121

'A Rich Canopy of State" 124

' Began to lay about him " 127

' Long live the King ! " 128

The Prince and his Deliverer (half-title) 131

' Our Friends threaded their Way " . 134

'Object Lessons" in English History 136

'John Canty moved off" • 137

'Smoothing back the Tangled Curls" 139

LOST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 15

Page

' Pkithee, pouk the Water" 141

'Go ON — TELL me; THY StOKY " 142

"Thou hast been shamefully abused" 145

'He dkopped on one Knee" 146

'EisE, SiK Miles Hendon, Baronet" 148

The Disappearance of the Prince (half-title) 149

'He dropped asleep" 151

' These be very Good and Sound " 153

'Explain, thou Limb of Satan" 155

'Hendon followed after him" . 156

'Le Koi est mort — VIVE LE Roi " (half-title) 159

'Wilt deign to deliver thy Commands?" 162

'The First Lord of the Bedchamber received the Hose" . . . 164

'A Secretary of State presented an Order" 166

'The Boy rose, and stood at Graceful Ease" 170

"Tis I that take them" 172

' If your Majesty avill but tax your Memory " 175

Tom as King (half-title) 177

'Tom had wandered to a Window" 181

'Tom scanned the Prisoners" . 183

'Let the Prisoner go free!" 187

'What is it that these have Done?" 188

' Several Old Heads nodded their Recognition " 190

The State Dinner (half-title) 193

'A Gentleman bearing a Rod" 196

'The Chancellor between two" 197

' i thank ye, my good people " 198

'He marched away in the Midst of his Pageant" 199

Foo-Foo THE First (half-title) . 201

'The Ruffian folloaved their Steps" . ...... 205

'PIe seized a Billet of Wood" 206

• He avas soon absorbed in Thinking " 207

'A Grim and Unsightly Picture" . . . 208

' They roared out a Rollicking Ditty " 210

'Whilst the Flames licked upwards" 212

'They avere whipped at the Cart's Tail" 213

'Thou shalt not" 215

' Knocking Hobbs doavn " 216

16' LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page

' TlIROXE HIM " 218

The Prince with the Tramps (half-title) 221

"The Troop of Vagabonds set forward" 224

"TiiEY THREW Bones and Vegetables" 225

" Began to writhe and wallow in the Dirt " 227

"The King fled in the Opposite Direction" 228

"He stumbled along" 230

"What seemed to be a Warm Rope" 232

"Cuddled up to the Calf" 233

The Prince with the Peasants (half-title) 20.j

"Took a Good Satisfying Stare" 239

"The Children's Mother received the King kindly" .... 240

"Brought the King out of his Dreams" 242

" Gave him a Butcher Knife to grind " 244

The Prince and the Hermit (half-title) 245

"He turned and descried two Figures" 248

"The King entered and paused" . 249

"I will tell you a Secret" 251

"Chatting pleasantly' all the Time" 253

"Drew his Thumb along the Edge" 255

"The next Moment they' were bound" ........ 256

Hendon to the Rescue (half-title) 257

"Sunk upon his Knees" 2G0

"God made Every' Creature but you!" . 262

" The Fettered Little King " 264

A Victim of Treachery (half-title) 267

"Hugo stood no Chance" 270

"Hugo bound the Poultice tight and fast" 272

"Tarry here till I come again" 274

"The King sprang to his Deliverer's Side" ....... 276

The Prince a Prisoner (half-title) 279

"Gently, Good Friend" 282

"She sprang Ta her Feet" .......... 284

The Escape (half-title) 287

"The Pig may cost thy Neck, Man" . 290

"Bear me up, bear me up, Sweet Sir!" 292

Hendon Hall (half-title) . 293

"Jogging Eastward on Sorry' Steeds" 296

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 17

Page

" Thekk is the Village, my Piunce!" 297

"'Embrace me, Hugh,' he cried" 299

*"HuGH PUT UP HIS Hand in Dissent" . 301

"A Beautiful Lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh"' .... 303

"Hugh was pinned to the Wall" 305

Disowned (half-title) 307

"Obey, and have no Fear" 310

" Am I Miles Hendon ? " 313

In Prison (lialf-title) 315

"Chained in a Large Room" 318

" The Old Man looked Hendon over " 320

"Information delivered in a Low Voice" 321

"The King !" HE cried. "What King?" 323

"Two Women chained to Posts" 326

"Torn away by the Officers" 328

"The King was Furious" 329

The Sacrifice (half-title) 331

"He confronted the Officer in Charge" 334

" While the Lash was applied, the Poor King turned away his Face " . 336

"Sir Hugh spurred away" ^ . . 337

To London (half-title) 339

"Hendon mounted and rode off with the King" 342

"In the Midst of a Jam of Hoavling People" 343

Tom's Progress (half-title) ,345

"To kiss his Hand at Parting" 348

"Commanded her to go to her Closet" 349

The Recognition Procession (half-title) 351

The Start for the Tower 353

"Welcome, O King!" 355

"A Largess! a Largess!" 356

"She was at his Side" 359

"My Liege, it is an III Time fob Dreaming" 361

"She was my Mother" 362

Coronation Day (half-title) 363

"Gathers up the Lady's Long Train" 366

"Tom Canty appeared" 368

"And fell on his Knees before him" 370

"The Great Seal — fetch it hither" 373

18 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Pagb

"SiiSE, THE Seal is not theke" 375

"Bethink tiike, my Kino" 377

"Long live the Tuue King!" 379 *

"To ciiACK Nuts -with" 381

Edwai!D as King (half-title) 383

"He stuetched himself on the Guound" 386

"Akkested as a Suspicious Chakacteu" 389

"It is his Higiit" 392

"Stijip this Rouber" 394

"Tom liosE and kissed the King's Hand" 395

Justice and Ketihuution (half-title) 397

Notes (lialf-title) 403

I WILL set down a tale as it was told to me by one who had it
of his father, which latter had it of Ids father, this last having in like
manner had it of Ibis father — and so on, back and still back, three
hundred years and more, the fathers transmitting it to the sons and
so preserving it. It may be history, it may be only a legend, a tradi-
tion. It may have happened, it may not have happened : but it could
have happened. It may be that the wise and the learned believed it
in the old days ; it may be that only the unlearned and the simple
loved it and credited it.

THE PEINCE AND THE PAUPER.

CHAPTER T,

THE BIRTH OP THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER.

tliG second quarter of the

sixteenth century, a boy

was born to a poor famil}'

of the name of Canty, who

did not want him. On the

same day another English

eliild was born to a rich

family of the name of f;^|

Tudor, who did want him.

All EuGfland wanted him

too. Eno;land had so

longed for him, and hoped

for him, and prayed God

for him, that, now that he

was really come, the people

went nearly mad for joy.

Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed each

other and cried. Everybody took a holiday,

SPLENDID
AND GI

i-niES."

24 THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER.

and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and
got very mellow ; and they kept this up for days and nights together.
By day, London was a sight to see, with gay banners waving from
every balcony and housetop, and splendid pageants marching along.
By night, it was again a sight to see, with its great bonfires at every
corner, and its troops of revellers making merry around them. There
was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor,
Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of
all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords and ladies were tending
him and watching over him — and not caring, either. But there was
no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in his poor rags,
except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble
with his presence.

CHAPTER II.

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

Let us skip a number of years.

London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town — for
that day. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants — some think double
as many. The streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty,
especially in the part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from
London Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second story
projecting over the first, and the third sticking its elbows out beyond
the second. The higher the houses grew, the broader they grew.
They were skeletons of strong criss-cross beams, with solid material
between, coated with plaster. The beams were painted red or blue
or black, according to the owner's taste, and this gave the houses a
very picturesque look. The windows were small, glazed with little
diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on hinges, like
doors.

The house which Tom's father lived in was up a foul little pocket
called Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane. It was small, decayed, and
rickety, but it was j^ackcd full of wretchedly poor families. Canty's
tribe occupied a room on the third floor. The mother and father had
a sort of bedstead in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his
two sisters, Bet and Nan, were not restricted — they had all the floor
to themselves, and might sleep where they chose. There were the
remains of a blanket or two, and some bundles of ancient and dirty
straw, but these could not rightly be called beds, for they were not

TOMS EARLY LIFE.

organized ; they were kicked into a general pile, mornings, and selec-
tions made from the mass at
night, for service.

Bet and Nan were fifteen
years old — twins. They
were good-hearted girls, un-
clean, clothed in rags, and
profoundly ignorant. Their
mother was like them. But
the father and the grand-
mother were a couj^le of
fiends. They got drunk
whenever they could ; then
they fought each other or
anybody else who came in
the way ; they cursed and
swore always, drunk or so-
ber ; John Canty was a thief,
and his mother a bes'g-ar.
They made beggars of the
children, but failed to make
thieves of them. Among,
but not of, the dreadfid
rabble that inhabited the
house, was a good old priest
whom the King had turned
out of house and home with
a pension of a few farthings,
and he used to get the chil-
dren aside and teach them

right ways secretly. Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin,

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

and how to read and write ; and would have done the same with the
girls, but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who could
not have endured such a queer accomplishment in them.

All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty's house.
Drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and
nearly all night long. Broken heads were as connnon as hunger in
that place. Yet little Tom was not unhappy. He had a hard time of
it, but did not know it. It was the sort of time that all the Offal
Court boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comforta-
ble thing. When he came home empty handed at night, he knew his
father would curse

him and thrash
him first, and that
when he was done
the awful grand-
mother would do
it all over again
and improve on it ;
and that away in
the night his starv-
ing mother would
slip to him stealth-
ily with any mis-
erable scrap or

crust she had been able to save for him by going hungry herself,
notwithstanding she was often caught in that sort of treason and
soundly beaten for it by her husband.

No, Tom's life went along well enough, especially in summer. He
only begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendi-
cancy were stringent, and the penalties heavy; so lie put in a good
deal of his time listening to good Father Andrew's charming old tales

"with any MISERABLK CKUST.

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

and legends about giants and fairies, dwarfs and genii, and enchanted
castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. His head grew to be full of
these wonderful things, and many a night as he lay in the dark on his
scant and offensive straw, tired, hungry, and smarting from a thrash-
ing, he unleashed liis imagi-
nation and soon forgot his
aches and pains in delicious
picturings to himself of the
charmed life of a petted
prince in a regal palace.
One desire came in time
to hauiit him day and
night : it was to see a real
prince, Avitli his own eyes.
He spoke of it once to
some of his Offal Court
comrades ; but they jeered
him and scoffed him so
unmercifully that he was
glad to keep his dream to
himself after that.

He often read the
priest's old books and got
him to explain and en-
large uj)on them. His
dreamings and readings
worked certain changes in
him, by and by. His
dream-people were so fine that he grew to lament his shabby clothing
and ins dirt, and to wish to be clean and better clad. He went on
playing in the mud just the same, and enjoying it, too ; but instead of

HE OFTEN KEAD THE PEIEST'S BOOKS."

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

splashing around in
for the fun of it,
added value in it
ings and cleansings

Tom could al-
going on around the
side, and at the fairs ;
and the rest of Lon-
to see a military
famous unfortunate
to tlie Tower, by
summer's day lie saw poor Anne Askew and three men burned at the
stake in Smithfield, and heard an ex-Bishop preach a sermon to them
which did not interest him. Yes, Tom's life was varied and pleasant
enough, on the whole.

By and by Tom's reading and dreaming about princely life wrought

SAW PiH)IJ AXNK ASKEW
UtJIJNED."

tlie Thames solely
he began to find an
because of the wash-
it affortled.
ways find something
Maypole in Cheap-
and now and then he
don had a chance
parade when some
was carried prisoner
land or beat. One

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

such a strong effect upon him that he began to act the prince, uncon-
sciously. His speech and manners became curiously ceremonious and
courtly, to the vast admiration and amusement of his intimates. But
Tom's influence among these young people began to grow, now, day

by day ; and in time he came to

.'--cas'

ii\ f t ■

be looked up to, by them, with a
sort of wondering awe, as a supe-
rior being. He seemed to know
so much ! and he could do and
say such marvellous things ! and
withal, he was so deep and wise !
Tom's remarks, and Tom's per-
formances, were reported by the
boys to their elders ; and these,
also, presently began to discuss
Tom Canty, and to regard him as
a most gifted and extraordinary
creature. Full grown people
brought their perplexities to Tom
for solution, and were often as-
tonished at the wit and wisdom of his decisions. In fact he was
become a hero to all who knew him except his own family — these,
only, saw nothing in him.

Privately, after a while, Tom organized a royal court! He was
the prince ; his special comrades were guards, chamberlains, equerries,
lords and ladies in waiting, and the royal family. Daily the mock
prince was received with elaborate ceremonials borrowed by Tom from
his romantic readings; daily the great affairs of, the mimic kingdom
were discussed in the royal council, and daily his mimic highness
issued decrees to his imaginary armies, navies, and viceroyalties.

After which, he would go forth in his rags and beg a few farthings,

BROUGHT THEIR PERPLEXITIES TO
TOM."

TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

eat his poor crust, take his customary cuffs and abuse, and then stretch
himself upon his handful of foul straw, and resume his empty gran-
deurs in his dreams.

And still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, in the

flesh, grew upon
day, and week
at last it ab-
desires, and be-
passion of his
One January
al begging tour,
spondently up
region round
Lane and Little
after hour, bare-footed
at cook-shop windows
dreadful pork-pies and
tions displaj^ed there
were dainties fit for
judging by the smell,
never been his good
one. There was a

him, day by
by week, until
sorbed all other
came the one
life.

day, on his usu-
he tramped de-
and down the
about Mincing
East Cheap, hour
and cold, looking in
and longing for the
other deadly inven-
— for to him these
the angels ; that is,
they were — for it had
luck to own and eat
cold drizzle of rain ;
the atmosphere was murky ; it Avas a melancholy day. At night Tom
reached home so wet and tired and hungry that it was not possible
for his father and grandmother to observe his forlorn condition and
not be moved — after their fashion ; Avherefore they gave him a brisk
cuffing at once and sent him to bed. For a long time his pain and
hunger, and the swearing and fighting going on in the building, kept
him awake ; but at last his thoughts drifted away to far, romantic
lands, and he fell asleep in the company of jewelled and gilded prince-
lings who lived in vast palaces, and had servants salaaming before

LO>fGING FOR THE PORK-
PIES."

34 TOM'S EARLY LIFE.

them or flying to execute their orders. And then, as usual, he
dreamed that he was a princeling himself.

All night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon him , he
moved among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of light, breathing
perfumes, drinking in delicious music, and answering the reverent
obeisances of the glittering throng as it parted to make way for him,
with here a smile, and there a nod of his princely head.

And when he awoke in the morning and looked upon the wretched-
ness about him, his dream had had its usual effect — it had intensified
the sordidnesss of his surroundings a thousand fold. Then came
bitterness, and heart-break, and tears.

CHAPTER III.

TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

Tom got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but with his
thoughts busy with tlie shadowy splendors of his night's dreams. He

wandered here and
there in tlie city,
liardly noticing
where he was go-
ing, or what was
happening around
liim. People jos-
tled ]iim, and some
gave him rough
speech ; but it was
all lost on the
musing boy. By
and by he found
himself at Temple Bar, the
farthest from home he had
ever travelled in that direction. He
stopped and considered a moment, then
fell into his imaginings again, and passed
on outside the walls of London. The
Strand had ceased to be a country-road
then, and regarded itself as a street, but

AT TEMPI.E UAR.

38 TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PBINCE.

by a strained construction ; for, though there was a tolerably compact
row of houses on one side of it, there were only some scattering great
buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, with amjole
and beautiful grounds stretching to the river, — grounds that are now
closely i^acked with grim acres of brick and stone.

Tom discovered Charing Village presently, and rested himself at
the beautiful cross built there by a bereaved king of earlier days ; then
idled down a quiet, lovely road, past the great cardinal's stately palace,
toward a far more mighty and majestic palace beyond, — Westminster.
Tom stared in glad Avonder at the vast pile of masonry, the wide-
spreading wings, the frowning bastions and turrets, the huge stone
gateway, with its gilded bars and its magnificent array of colossal
granite lions, and other the signs and S3'mbols of English royalty.
Was the desire of his soul to be satisfied at last ? Here, indeed, was a
king's palace. Might he not hope to see a prince now, — a prince of
flesh and blood, if Heaven were willing ?

At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue, that is to say,
an erect and stately and motionless man-at-arms, clad from head to
heel in shining steel armor. At a respectful distance were many coun-
try folk, and people from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of
royalty that might offer. Splendid carriages, with splendid people in
them and splendid servants outside, were arriving and departing by
several other noble gateways that pierced the royal enclosure.

Poor little Tom, in his rags, aj)proached, and was moving slow and
timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart and a rising hope, when
all at once he caught sight through the golden bars of a spectacle
that almost made him shout for joy. Within was a comely boy,
tanned and brown with sturdy out-door sports and exercises, whose
clothing Avas all of lo^'ely silks and satins, shining with jewels ; at his
hip a little jewelled sword and dagger ; dainty buskins on his feet, with
red heels ; and on his head a jaunty crimson cap, with drooping plumes

TOM'S MEETING WITU THE PRINCE.

fastened with a great sparkling gem. Several gorgeous gentlemen
stood near, — his servants, Avithout a doubt. Oh! he was a prince — a
prince, a living prince, a real prince — without the shadow of a ques-
tion ; and the prayer of the pauper-boy's heart was answered at last.

Tom's breath came quick and short with ex-
citement, and his eyes grew big with wonder
and delight. Every thing gave way in
his mind instantly to one desire : that
was to get close to the prince, and
have a good, devouring look at him.
Before he knew
what he was about,
he had his face
against the Q'ate-
bars. The next
instant one of the
soldiers snatched
him rudely away,
and sent him spin-
ning among the
gaping crowd of
country gawks
and London idlers.
The soldier said, —

'^ M i n d thy
manners, thou
young beggar ! "

The crowd
jeered and
laughed ; but the
young prince sprang to the gate with his face flushed, and his eyes
flashing with indignation, and cried out, —

"let him in!"

40 TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

" How dar'st thou use a poor lad like that ! How dar'st thou use
the King my father's meanest subject so ! Open the gates, and let him
in ! ••

You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their hats then.
You should have heard them cheer, and shout, "Long live the Prince
of Wales ! "

The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened the gates,
and presented again as the little Prince of Poverty passed in, in his
fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince of Limitless Plenty.

Edward Tudor said, —

" Thou lookest tired and hungry : thou'st been treated ill. Come
with me."

Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to — I don't know what ;
interfere, no doubt. But they were waved aside with a right royal
gesture, and they stopjDed stock still where they were, like so many
statues. Edward took Tom to a rich ajiartment in the palace, which
he called his cabinet. B}^ his command a repast was brought such as
Tom had never encountered before except in books. The prince, with
princely delicacy and breeding, sent away the servants, so that his
humble guest might not be embarrassed by their critical presence ;
then he sat near by, and asked questions while Tom ate.

" What is thy name, lad ? "

" Tom Canty, an' it please thee, sir."

" 'Tis an odd one. Where dost live ? "

" In the city, please thee, sir. Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane."

" Offal Court ! Truly 'tis another odd one. Hast parents ? "

" Parents have I, sir, and a grand-dam likewise that is but indiffer-
ently precious to me, God forgive me if it be offence to say it — also
twin sisters, Nan and Bet."

" Then is thy grand-dam not over kind to thee, I take it."

" Neither to any other is she, so please your Worship. She hath a
wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days."

TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

" Doth she mistreat thee ? "

" There be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep or over-
come with drink ; but when she hath her judgment clear again, she
maketh it up to me with goodly beatings."

A fierce look came into the little prince's eyes, and he cried out, —

" What ! Beatings ? "

" Oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir."

"how old be these?"

'■''Beatings! — and thou so frail and little. Hark ye: before the
night come, she shall hie her to the Tower. The King my father" —

" In sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree. The Tower is for the
great alone."

" True, indeed. I had not thought of that. I will consider of her
i:)unishment. Is thy father kind to thee ? "

" Not more than Gammer Canty, sir."

" Fathers be alike, mayhap. Mine hath not a doll's temper. He
smiteth with a heavy hand, jet spareth me : he spareth me not always

42 TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

witli his tongue, though, sooth to say. How doth thy mother use
thee ? "

" She is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain of any
sort. And Nan and Bet are like to her in this."

" How old be these ? "

" Fifteen, an' it please you, sir."

" The Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the Lady Jane

Grey, my cousin, is of mine own age, and comely and gracious withal ;

but my sister the Lady Mary, with her gloomy mien and — Look

you : do thy sisters forbid their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy

their souls ? "

" They ? Oh, dost think, sir, that thei/ have servants ? "

The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely a riioment,
then said, —

" And prithee, why not ? Who helpeth them undress at niglit ?
who attire th them when they rise?"

" None, sir. Wouldst have them take off their garment, and sleep
without, — like the beasts ? "

" Their garment ! Have they but one ? "

" Ah, good your worship, what would they do with more ? Truly
they have not two bodies each."

"It is a quaint and marvellous thought ! Thy j^ardon, I had not
meant to laugh. But thy good Nan and thy Bet shall have raiment
and lackeys enow, and that soon, too : my cofferer shall look to it.
No, thank me not; 'tis nothing. Thou speakest well; thou hast an
easy grace in it. Art learned ? "

" I know not if I am or not, sir. The good priest that is called
Father Andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his books."

" Know'st thou the Latin ? "

" But scantly, sir, I doubt."

" Learn it, lad : 'tis hard only at first. The Greek is harder ; but

TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PlilNCE.

neither these nor any tongues else, I think, are hard to the Lady Eliza-
beth and my cousin. Thou shouldst hear those
damsels at it! But tell me of thy Offal
Court. Hast thou a pleasant life there ? "
" In truth, yes, so please you, sir,
save when one is hungry. There be
Punch-and-Judy shows, and mon-
keys, — oh, such antic creatures !

I^S^^I ^""'^ ^"^ bravely dressed!— and

§yfi: • '< /^.^ / lY^QT^Q be plays wherein they that

^^fmk

"doff tuy kags, and don these splendoks.

^ play do shout and fight till all are slain,
and 'tis so fine to see, and costeth but a
^^^^ farthing — albeit 'tis main hard to get the

farthing, please your worship.'
" Tell me more."

44 TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

" We lads of Offal Court do strive against each other with the
cudgel, like to the fashion of the "prentices, sometimes."

The prince's eyes flashed. Said he, —

" Marry, that would not I mislike. Tell me more."

" We strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be fleetest."

" That would I like also. Speak on."

" In summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in the river,
and each doth duck his neighbor, and spatter him Avith water, and
dive and shout and tumble and " —

" 'Twould be worth my father's kingdom but to enjoy it once !
Prithee go on."

" We dance and sing about the Maypole in Cheapside ; we play in
the sand, each covering his neighbor up ; and times we make mud
pastry — oh the lovely mud, it hath not its like for delightfulness in
all the world ! — we do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your
worship's presence."

"Oh, prithee, say no more, 'tis glorious ! If that I could but

clothe me in raiment like to thine, and strip my feet, and revel in the
mud once, just once, with none to rebuke me or forbid, meseemeth I
could forego the crown ! "

" And if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou art clad —
just once " —

"Oho, wouldst like it? Then so shall it be. Doff thy rags, and
don these splendors, lad ! It is a brief hajDpiness, but will be not less
keen for that. We will have it while we may, and change again
before any come to molest."

A few minutes later the little Prince of Wales was garlanded with
Tom's fluttering odds and ends, and the little Prince of Pauperdom
was tricked out in the gaudy plumage of royalty. The two went and
stood side by side before a great mirror, and lo, a miracle : there did
not seem to have been any change made ! They stared at each other.

TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE. 45

then at the glass, then at each other again. At last the puzzled prince-
ling said, —

''What dost thou make of this?"

"•Ah, good your worship, require me not to answer. It is not
meet that one of my degree should utter the thing."

"Then will /utter it. Thou hast the same hair, the same eyes, the
same voice and manner, the same form and stature, the same face and
countenance, that I bear. Fared we forth naked, there is none could
say which was you, and which the Prince of Wales. And, now that I
am clothed as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more
nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldier — Hark ye, is not
this a bruise upon your hand ? "

" Yes ; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth that the
poor man-at-arms " —

" Peace ! It was a shameful thing and a cruel ! " cried the little
prince, stamping his bare foot. " If the King — Stir not a step till
I come again I It is a command ! "

In a moment he had snatched up and put away an article of
national importance that lay upon a table, and was out at the door
and flying through the palace grounds in his bannered rags, with a hot
face and glowing eyes. As soon as he reached the great gate, he
seized the bars, and tried to shake them, shouting, —

" Open ! Unbar the gates ! "

The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly ;' and as
the prince burst through the portal, half-smothered with royal wrath,
the soldier fetched him a sounding box on the ear that sent him whirl-
ing to the roadway, and said, —

" Take that, thou beggar's spawn, for what thou got'st me from his
Highness ! "

The crowd roared with laughter. The prince picked himself out
of the mud, and made fiercely at the sentry, shouting, —

TOM'S MEETING WITH THE PRINCE.

I am the Prince of Wales, my person is
sacred ; and tliou shalt hang for laying thy
hand uj^on me ! "

The soldier brought his halberd
to a present-arms and said mock-
ingly, —

" I salute your gracious High-
ness." Then angrily, " Be off, thou
crazy rubbish I "

Here the jeering crowd closed
around the poor little prince, and
hustled him far down the road, hoot-
ing him, and shouting, " Way for his
ro3^al Highness I way for the Prince of
Wales ! "

I SALUTE YOUR GKACIOUS HIGHNESS ! "

CHAPTER IV,

THE PRINCE'S TROUBLES BEGIN.

After hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, the little prince
was at last deserted by the rabble and left to himself. As long as he
had been able to rage against the mob, and threaten it royally, and
royally utter commands that were good stuff to laugh at, he was very
entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be silent, he
was no longer of use to his tormentors, and they sought amusement
elsewhere. He looked about him, now, but could not recognize the
locality. He was within the city of London — that was all he knew.
He moved on, aimlessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and
the passers-by were infrequent. He bathed his bleeding feet in the
brook which flowed then where Farringdon street now is ; rested a few
moments, then passed on, and presently came upon a great space with
only a few scattered houses in it, and a prodigious church. He recog-
nized this church. Scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms
of workmen ; for it was undergoing elaborate repairs. The prince
took heart at once — he felt that his troubles were at an end, now.
He said to himself, " It is the ancient Grey Friars' church, which the
king my father hath taken from tlie monks and given for a home for-
ever for poor and forsaken children, and new-named it Christ's Church.
Right gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so gener-
ously by them — and the more that that son is himself as poor and as
forlorn as any that be sheltered here this day, or ever shall be."

He was soon in the midst of a crowd of boys who were running,

THE PRINCE'S TROUBLES BEGIN.

jumping, playing at ball and leap-frog and otherwise disporting them-
selves, and right noisily, too. They were all dressed alike, and in the
fashion which in that day prevailed among serving-men and 'prentices ^
— that is to say, each had on the crown of his head a flat black cap
about the size of a saucer, which was not useful as a covering, it being
of such scanty dimensions, neither was it ornamental ; from beneath it

SET UPOX BY DOGS.'

the hair fell, unparted, to the middle of the forehead, and was cropped
straight around; a clerical band at the neck; a blue gown that fitted
closely and hung as low as the knees or lower ; full sleeves ; a broad
red belt ; bright yellow stockings, gartered above the knees ; low shoes
with large metal buckles. It was a sufficiently ugly costume.

1 See Note 1, at end of the volume.

THE PEINCE\S TROUBLES BEGIN. 51

The boys stopped their play and flocked about the prince, who said
with native dignity —

" Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince of Wales
desireth speech with hira."

A great shout went up, at this, and one rude fellow said —

"Marry, art thou his grace's messenger, beggar?"

The prince's face flushed with anger, and his ready hand flew to
his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a storm of laughter,
and one boy said —

" Didst mark that ? He fancied he had a sword — belike he is the
prince himself."

This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew himself up
proudly and said —

" I am the ]3tince ; and it ill beseemeth you that feed upon the
king my father's bounty to use me so."

This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. The youth who
had first spoken, shouted to his comrades —

" Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace's princely father, where
be your manners? Down on your marrow bones, all of ye, and do
reverence to his kingly port and royal rags ! "

AVith boisterous mirth they dropped ujDon their knees in a body
and did mock homage to their prey. The prince spurned the nearest
boy with his foot, and said fiercely —

" Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee a gib-
bet!" -

Ah, but- this was not a joke — this was going beyond fun. The
laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. A dozen
shouted —

" Hale him forth ! To the horse-pond, to the horse-pond ! Where
be the dogs ? Ho, there. Lion ! ho. Fangs ! "

Then followed such a thing as England had never seen before —

THE PRINCE'S TROUBLES BEGIN.

the sacred person of the heir to the throne rudely buffeted by plebeian
hands, and set upon and torn b}' dogs.

As night drew to a close that day, the prince found himself far
down in the close-built portion of the city. His body was bruised, his
hands were bleeding, and his rags were all besmirched with mud. He
wandered on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired

and faint he could
hardly drag one foot
after the other. He
had ceased to ask
questions of any one,
since they brought him
only insult instead of
information. He kept
muttering to himself,
"Offal court — that is
the name ; if I can
but find it before my
strength is wholly spent
and I drop, then am I
saved — for his people will
take me to the palace and
prove that I am none of
theirs, but the true prince,
and I shall have mine own
asain." And now and
then his mind reverted to
his treatment by those rude Christ's Hospital boys, and he said,
" When I am king, they shall not have bread and shelter only, but
also teachings out of books ; for a full belly is little worth where the
mind is starved, and the heart. I will keep this diligently in my re-

"a drunken liUFFIAN COLLAKKD HIM."

THE PRINCE'S TROUBLES BEGIN. 53

membrance, that this day's lesson be not lost upon me, and my people
suffer thereby ; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gentle-
ness and charity." ^

The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and
a raw and gusty night set in. The houseless prince, the homeless heir
to the throne of England, still moved on, drifting deeper into the
maze of squalid alleys where the swarming hives of poverty and
misery were massed together.

Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said —

" Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought a farthing
home, I warrant me ! If it be so, an' I do not break all the bones in
thy lean body, then am I not John Canty, but some other."

The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed his pro-
faned shoulder, and eagerly said —

" O, art his father, truly ? Sweet heaven grant it be so — then wilt
thou fetch him away and restore me ! "

" His father ? I know not what thou mean'st ; I but know I am
tJiT/ father, as thou shalt soon have cause to " —

" O, jest not, palter not, delay not ! — I am worn, I am wounded,
I can bear no more. Take me to the king my father, and he will
make thee rich beyond thy wildest dreams. Believe me, man, believe
me I — I speak no lie, but only the truth ! — put forth thy hand and
save me ! I am indeed the Prince of Wales ! "

The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then shook his head
and muttered —

" Gone stark mad as any Tom o' Bedlam ! " — then collared him
once more, and said with a coarse laugh and an oath, "But mad or no
mad, I and thy Gammer Canty will soon find where the soft places in
thy bones lie, or I'm no true man ! "

With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince away, and

disappeared up a front court followed by a delighted and noisy swarm

of human vermin. ^

1 See Note 2, at end of the volume.

CHAPTER V.

TOM AS A PATRICIAN,

Tom Canty, left alone in the prince's cabinet, made good use of
his opportunity. He turned
himself this way and that be-
fore the great mirror, admiring
his finery ; then walked away,
imitating the prince's high-bred
carriage, and still observing re-
sults in the glass. Next he
drew the beautiful sword, and
bowed, kissing the blade, and
laying it across his breast, as
he had seen a noble knight do,
by way of salute to the lieu-
tenant of the Tower, five or
six weeks before, when deliv-
ering the great lords of Norfolk
and Surrey into his hands for
captivity. Tom played with
the jewelled dagger that hung
upon his thigh ; he examined
the costly and exquisite orna-
ments of the room ; he tried
each of the sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he would be ii

NKXT HE DKEW THE SWOKD.

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

the Offal Court herd could only peep in and see him in his grandeur.
He wondered if they would believe the marvellous tale he should tell
when he got home, or if they would shake their heads, and say his
overtaxed imagination had at last upset his reason.

At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him that the
prince was gone a long time ; then right away he began to feel lonely ;

^^j^^^""

very soon he fell to listening and longing,
and ceased to toy with the pretty things
about him ; he grew uneasy, then rest-
less, then distressed. Suppose some one
should come, and catch him in the
prince's clothes, and the prince not there to explain. Might they
not hang him at once, and inquire into his case afterward? He had
heard that the great were prompt about small matters. His fears rose
higher and higher ; and trembling he softly opened tlie door to the

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

antechamber, resolved to fly and seek the prince, and, through him,
protection and release. Six gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two
young ]3ages of high degree, clothed like butterflies, sprung to their
feet, and bowed low before him. He stei^ped quickly back, and shut
the door. He said, —

" Oh, they mock at me ! They will go and tell. Oh ! why came
I here to cast away my life ? "

He walked up and down the floor,
filled with nameless fears, listening, start-
ing at every trifling sound. Presently
the door swung open, and a silken
said, —

" The Lady Jane Grey."

The door closed, and a sweet young girl, richly clad, bounded
toward him. Bat she stopped suddenly, and said in a distressed
voice, —

" Oh, what aileth thee, my lord?"

60 TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

Tom's breath was nearly failing him ; but he made shift to stammer
out, —

" Ah, be merciful, thou I In sooth I am no lord, but only poor
Tom Cant}' of Offal Court in the city. Prithee let me see the prince,
and he will of his grace restore to me my rags, and let me hence
unhurt. Oh, be thou merciful, and save me ! "

By this time the boy was on his knees, and supplicating with his
eyes and uplifted hands as well as with his tongue. The young girl
seemed horror-stricken. She cried out —

" O my lord, on thy knees ? — and to me ! "

Then she fled away in fright ; and Tom, smitten with despair,
sank down, murmuring —

" There is no help, there is no hope. Now will they come and
take me."

Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful tidings were
speeding through the palace. The whisper, for it was whispered
always, flew from menial to menial, from lord to lady, down all the
long corridors, from story to story, from saloon to saloon, " The prince
hath gone mad, the prince hath gone mad ! " Soon every saloon, every
marble hall, had its groups of glittering lords and ladies, and other
groups of dazzling lesser folk, talking earnestly together in whispers,
and every face had in it dismay. Presently a splendid official came
marching by these groups, making solemn proclamation, —

"In the Name of the King!

Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain of death, nor
discuss the same, nor carry it abroad. In the name of the King ! "

The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been
stricken dumb.

Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of " The prince '
See, the prince comes ! "

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying
to bow in return, and meekly gazing upon his strange surroundings
with bewildered and pathetic eyes. Great nobles walked ujion each
side of him, making him lean upon them, and so steady his steps.
Behind him followed the court-physicians and some servants.

Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment i
of the palace, and heard the door close behind him.
Around him stood those who \\

had come with him.

I I

"great nobles walked upon each side of him."

gfe^^^,. Before him, at a little distance, reclined a
very large and very fat man, with a wide,
pulpy face, and a stern expression. His large
head was very gray ; and his whiskers, which he wore only around
his face, like a frame, were gray also. His clothing was of rich stuff,
but old, and slightly frayed in places. One of his swollen legs had
a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. There was silence
now ; and there was no head there but was bent in reverence,

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

except this man's. This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread
Henry YIII. He said, — and his face grew gentle as he began to
speak, —

" How now, my lord Edward, my prince ? Hast been minded to
cozen me, the good King thy father, Avho loveth thee, and kindly useth
thee, with a sorry jest ? "

"he dkopped upon his knees

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let
him, to the beginning of this speech ; but when the words " me the
good King" fell upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as
instantly upon his knees as if a shot had brought him there. Lifting
up his hands, he exclaimed, —

TOM AS A PATEICIAN. 63

" Thou the King? Then am I undone indeed ! "

This speech seemed to stun the King. His eyes wandered from
faee to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, uj)on the boy before
him. Then he said in a tone of deep disappointment, —

" Alack, I had believed the rumor disproportioned to the truth ;
but I fear me 'tis not so." He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a
gentle voice, " Come to thy father, child : thou art not well."

Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of
England, humble and trembling. The King took the frightened face
between his hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it a while,
as if seeking some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed
the curly head against his breast, and patted it tenderly. Presently
he said, —

"Dost not know thy father, child? Break not mine old heart;
say thou know'st me. Thou dost know me, dost thou not?"

" Yea : thou art my dread lord the King, whom God preserve ! "

"True, true — that is well — be comforted, tremble not so; there
is none here would hurt thee ; there is none here but loves thee.
Thou art better now ; thy ill dream passeth — is't not so ? And thou
knowest thyself now also — is't not so? Thou wilt not miscall thyself
again, as they say thou didst a little while agone ? "

" I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth,
most dread lord ; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a
pauper born, and 'tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here,
albeit I was therein nothing blameful. I am but young to die, and
thou canst save me with one little word. Oh speak it, sir ! "

" Die ? Talk not so, sweet prince — peace, peace, to thy troubled
heart — thou shalt not die!"

Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry, —

" God requite thy mercy, oh my King, and save thee long to bless
thy land ! " Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, " Thou lieard'st it I I am not
to die : the King hath said it ! " There was no movement, save that
all bowed with grave respect ; but no one
spoke. He hesitated, a little confused, then ,

turned timidh' toward the King, saying, i .v'^'-^ '' I V\\

may go now

HE TURNED WITH JOYFUL FACE.

"Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry j^et a little?
Whither wouldst go ? "

Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly, —

" PeradA-enture I mistook; but I did think me free, and so was I
moved to seek again the kennel where I was born and bred to misery,
yet which harboreth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to
me ; whereas these pomps and splendors Avhereunto I am not used —
oh, please you, sir, to let me go ! "

The King was silent and thoughtful a while, and his face betrayed

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

a growing distress and uneasiness. Presently he said, with something
of hope in his voice, —

" Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits
unmarred as toucheth other matter. God send it may be so ! We
will make trial."

THE PHYSICIAN UOWED LOAV.

Then he asked Tom a ques-
tion in Latin, and Tom answered him lamely
in the same tongue. The King was delighted,

and showed it. The lords and doctors manifested their gratification
also. The King said, —

" 'Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but sheweth
that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. How say you,
sn- r

The physician addressed bowed low, and replied, —

66 TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

"It jumpeth witli mine own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined
aright."

The King looked p^ jased with this encouragement, coming as it
did from so excellent authority, and continued with good heart, —

" Now mark ye all : we will try him further."

He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent a moment,
embarrassed by having so many eyes centred upon him, then said
diffidently, —

" I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty."

The King fell back upon his couch. The attendants flew to his
assistance ; but he put them aside, and said, —

" Trouble me not — it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. Raise me !
there, 'tis sufficient. Come hither, child ; there, rest thy poor troubled
head upon thy father's heart, and be at peace. Thou'lt soon be well :
'tis but a passing fantasy. Fear thou not ; thou'lt soon be well."
Then he turned toward the company : his gentle manner changed, and
baleful lightnings began to play from his eyes. He said, —

" List ye all ! This my son is mad ; but it is not permanent. Over-
study hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. Away
with his books and teachers ! see ye to it. Pleasure him with sports,
beguile him in wholesome ways, so that liis health come again." He
raised himself higher still, and went on with energy, " He is mad ; but
he is my son, and England's heir ; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign !
And hear ye further, and j)roclaim it : whoso speaketh of this his dis-
temper worketh against the peace and order of these realms, and shall
to the gallows ! . . . Give me to drink — I burn : this sorrow sappeth
my strength. . . . There, take away the cup. . . . Support me. There,
that is well. Mad, is he ? Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he
Prince of "Wales, and I the King will confirm it. This very morrow
shall he be installed in his princely dignity in due and ancient form.
Take instant order for it, my lord Hertford."

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said, —

" The King's majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal

of England lieth attainted in the Tower. It were not meet that one

attainted " —

' THE KING FELL BACK UPON HIS COUCH,

" Peace ! Insult

not mine ears with -
his hated name. Is
this man to live forever? Am I to be balked of my will? Is the
prince to tarry uninstalled, because, forsooth, the realm lacketh an
earl marshal free of treasonable taint to invest him with his honors?
No, by the splendor of God ! Warn my parliament to bring me
Norfolk's doom before the sun rise again, else shall they answer for it
grievously ! " ^

Lord Hertford said, —

" The King's will is law ; " and, rising, returned to his former
place.

1 See Note 3, at end of the voluiue.

TOM AS A PATRICIAN.

Gradually the wrath faded out of the old King's face, and he
said, —

" Kiss me, my prince. There . . . what fearest thou ? Am I not
thy loving father? "

" Thou art good to me that
am unworthy, O mighty and
gracious lord: that in truth

IS THIS MAN TO LIVK FOKEVEK? "

I know. But — but — it grieveth me to think of him that is to die,
and" —

" Ah, 'tis like thee, 'tis like thee ! I know thy heart is still the
same, even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, for thou wert ever
of a gentle spirit. But this duke standeth between thee and thine
honors : I will have another in his stead that shall bring no taint to
his great office. Comfort thee, my prince : trouble not thy poor head
with this matter."

" But is it not I that speed him hence, my liege ? How long might
he not live, but for me ? "

TOM AR A PATBICIAN. 69

" Take no thought of hhn, my prince : he is not worthy. Kiss me
once again, and go to thy trifles and amusements ; for my mahidy dis-
tresseth me. I am aweary, and woukl rest. Go with thine uncle
Hertford and thy people, and come again when my body is refreshed."

Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, for this last
sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had cherished that now he
would be set free. Once more he heard the buzz of low voices ex-
claiming, " The prince, the prince comes ! "

Plis spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glitter-
ing files of bowing courtiers ; for he recognized that he was indeed a
captive now, and might remain forever shut up in this gilded cage,
a forlorn and friendless prince, except God in his mercy take pity on
him and set him free.

And, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating in the air
the severed head and the remembered face of the great Duke of
Norfolk, the eyes fixed on him reproachfully.

His old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality 'was so
dreary !

CHAPTER VI,

TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

Tom was conducted to the principal apartment of a noble
and made to sit down — a thing which he was loath to do, since
were elderly men and men of high degree
about him. He begged them to be seat-
ed, also, but they only bowed their thanks
or murmured them, and remained stand-
ing. He would have insisted, but his
" uncle " the earl of Hertford whispered
in his ear —

" Prithee, insist not, my lord ; it is
not meet that they sit in thy pres-
ence."

The lord St. John Avas an-
nounced, and after making obei-
sance to Tom, he said —

" I come upon the king's
errand, concerning a
matter which requir- -_
eth privacy. Will it
please your royal
to dismiss

suite,
there

liighness

PRITHEE, IXSIST NOT.

all that attend you here, save my lord the earl of Hertford ? "

Observing that Tom did not seem to know how to proceed, Hert-

74 TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

ford whispered him to make a sign with liis hand and not trouble
himself to speak unless he chose. When the waiting gentlemen had
retired, lord St. John said —

" His majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty reasons of
state, the prince's grace shall hide his infirmity in all ways that be
within his power, till it be passed and he be as he was before. To
wit, that he shall deny to none that he is the true prince, and heir to
England's greatness ; that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and
shall receive, without word or sign of protest, that reverence and
observance which unto it do appertain of right and ancient usage ;
that he shall cease to speak to any of that lowly birth and life his
malady hath conjured out of the unwholesome imaginings of o'er-
wrought fancy ; that he shall strive with diligence to bring unto his
memory again those faces which he was wont to know — and where
he faileth he shall hold his peace, neither betraying by semblance of
surprise, or other sign, that he hath forgot ; that upon occasions of
state, whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the thing he
should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show nought of
unrest to the curious that look on, but take advice in that matter of
the lord Hertford, or my humble self, which are commanded of the
king to be upon this service and close at call, till this commandment
be dissolved. Thus saith the king's majesty, who sendeth greeting
to your royal highness and prayeth that God will of His mercy
quickly heal you and have you now and ever in His holy keeping."

The lord St. John made reverence and stood aside. Tom replied,
resignedly —

"The king hath said it. None may palter with the king's com-
mand, or fit it to his ease, where it doth chafe, with deft evasions.
The king shall be obeyed."

Lord Hertford said —

" Touching the king's majesty's ordainment concerning books and

TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

such like serious matters, it may peradventure please your highness
to ease your time with lightsome entertaimnent, lest you go wearied
to the banquet and suffer harm thereby."

Tom's face showed inquiring surprise ; and a blush followed when
he saw lord St. John's eyes bent sorrowfully upon him. His lordship
said —

" Thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown surprise —
but suffer it not to trouble thee, for 'tis a matter that will not bide,
but depart with thy mending malady. My lord of Hertford speaketh
of the city's banquet which the king's majesty did promise some two
months flown, your highness should attend. Thou recallest it now ? "

"It grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me," said Tom,
in a hesitating voice ; and blushed again.

76 TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

At this moment the lady Elizabeth and the lady Jane Grey were
announced. The two lords exchanged significant glances, and Hert-
ford stepped quickly toward the door. As the young girls passed
him, he said in a low voice —

" I pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humors, nor show sur-
prise when his memory doth lapse — it will grieve you to note how
it doth stick at every trifle."

Meantime lord St. John was saying in Tom's ear —

" Please you sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty's desire.
Remember all thou canst — seem to remember all else. Let them not
perceive that thou art much changed from thy wont, for thou knowest
how tenderly thy old play-fellows bear thee in their hearts and how
'twould grieve them. Art willing, sir, that I remain? — and thine
uncle ? "

Tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured word, for he
was already learning, and in his simple heart was resolved to acquit
himself as best he might, according to the king's command.

In spite of every precaution, the conversation among the young
people became a little embarrassing, at times. More than once, in
truth, Tom was near to breaking down and confessing himself unequal
to his tremendous part ; but the tact of the princess Elizabeth saved
him, or a word from one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in
apparently by chance, had the same happy effect. Once the little
lady Jane turned to Tom and dismayed him with this question, —

" Hast paid thy duty to the queen's majesty to-day, my lord ? "

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stammer out
something at hazard, when lord St. John took the word and answered
for him with the easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter
delicate difficulties and to be ready for them —

" He hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten him, as
touching his majesty's condition ; is it not so, your highness ? "

TOM RECEIVES INlSTEUCTIONS.

Tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but felt that
he was getting upon dangerous ground. Somewhat later it was
mentioned tliat Tom was to study no more at present, whereupon
her little ladyship exclaimed —

" 'Tis a pity, 'tis such a pity ! Thou wert proceeding bravely.
But bide thy time in patience ; it will not be for long. Thoult yet

HERTFORD AND THE PRINCESSES.

be graced with learning like thy father, and make thy tongue master
of as many languages as his, good my prince."

" My father ! " cried Tom, off his guard for the moment. " I trow
he cannot speak his own so that any but the swine that wallow

78 TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

in the styes may tell his meaning ; and as for learning of any sort

soever "

He looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my lord St.
John's eyes.

He stopped, blushed, then continued low and sadly : " Ah, my
malady persecuteth me again, and my mind wandereth. I meant the
king's grace no irreverence."

" We know it, sir," said the princess Elizabeth, taking her " broth-
er's " hand between her two palms, respectfully but caressingly ;
"trouble not thyself as to that. The fault is none of thine, but
thy distemper's."

"Thou'rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady," said Tom, gratefully,
"and my heart moveth me to thank thee for't, an' I may be so bold."

Once the giddy little lady Jane tired a simple Greek phrase at
Tom. The princess Elizabeth's quick eye saw by the serene blankness
of the target's front that the shaft was overshot ; so she tranquilly
delivered a return volley of sounding Greek on Tom's behalf, and
then straightway changed the talk to other matters.

Time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the whole.
Snags and sandbars grew less and less frequent, and Tom grew more
and more at his ease, seeing that all were so lovingly bent upon help-
ing him and overlooking his mistakes. When it came out that the
little ladies were to accompany him to the Lord Mayor's banquet in
the evening, his heart gave a bound of relief- and delight, for he felt
that he should not be friendless, now, among that multitude of stran-
gers , whereas, an hour earlier, the idea of their going with him would
have been an insupportable terror to him.

Tom's guardian angels, the two lords, had had less comfort in the
interview than the other parties to it. They felt much as if they
were piloting a great ship through a dangerous channel ; they were
on the alert constantly, and found their office no child's play. Where-

TOM RECEIVES INSTIiUCTIONS.

fore, at last, when the Ladies' visit was drawing to a close and the
lord Guilford Dudley was announced, they not only felt that their
charge had been sufficiently taxed for tlie present, but also that they
themselves were not in the best condition to take their ship back and
make their anxious voyage all over again. So they respectfully ad-
vised Tom to excuse himself, which he was very glad to do, although
a slight shade of disappointment might have been observed upon my

lady Jane's face when she heard the splendid

stripling denied admittance.

There was a pause, now, a sort of waiting silence which
Tom could not understand. He glanced at lord Hertford, who gave
him a sign — but he failed to understand that, also. The ready Eliza-
beth came to the rescue with her usual easy grace. She made rev-
erence and said, —

" Have we leave of the prince's grace my brother to go ? "

Tom said —

" Indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me they will, for

rOM llECFAVES INSTRUCTIONS.

the asking ; yet would I rather give them any other thing that in my
poor power lieth, tlian leave to take the light and blessing of their
presence hence. Give ye good den, and God be with ye ! " Then
he smiled inwardly at the thought, " 'tis
not for nought I have dwelt but among
princes in my ] ^"
tongue some si
dered and gracious

When the i
were gone, Tom
his keepers and t

"May it ph
ships to grant :
into some corner

Lord Hert
said —

"So please yoi
highness, it is f(
you to comman(
it is for us 1
obey. That the
shouldst rest

OFFERED IT TO HIM ON A GOLDEN SALVER.'

indeed a needful thing, since thou must journey to the city presently."

He touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was ordered to desire

the presence of Sir William Herbert. This gentleman came straight-

TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS. 81

way, and conducted Tom to an inner apartment. Tom's first move-
ment, there, was to reach for a cup of water ; but a silk-and-velvet
servitor seized it, dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on
a golden salver.

Next, the tired captive sat down and was going to take off his
buskins, timidly asking leave with his eye, but another silk-and-velvet
discomforter went down upon his knees and took the office from him.
He made two or three further efforts to help himself, but being
promptly forestalled each time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of
resignation and a murmured " Beshrew me but I marvel they do not
require to breathe for me also ! " Slippered, and wrapped in a sumptu-
ous robe, he laid himself down at last to rest, but not to sleep, for
his head was too full of thoughts and the room too full of people.
He could not dismiss the former, so they staid ; he did not know
enough to dismiss the latter, so they staid also, to his vast regret, —
and theirs.

Tom's departure had left his two noble guardians alone. They
mused a while, with much head-shaking and walking the floor, then
lord St. John said —

" Plainly, what dost thou think ? "
* " Plainly, then, this. The king is near his end, my nephew is mad,
mad will mount the throne, and mad remain. God protect England,
since she will need it ! "

" Verily it promiseth so, indeed. But . . . have you no misgivings
as to . . . as to " . . .

The speaker liesitated, and finally stopped. He evidently felt that
he was upon delicate ground. Lord Hertford stopped before him,
looked into his face with a clear, frank eye, and said —

"Speak on — there is none to hear but me. Misgivings as to
what?"

TOM RECEIVES INSTBUCTIONS.

" I am full loath to word the thing that is in my mind, and thou
so near to him in blood, my lord. But craving pardon if I do offend,
seemeth it not strange that madness could so change his port and
manner I — not but that his port and speech are princely still, but that
they differ in one unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom

THEY MUSED A WHILE.

was aforetime. Seemeth it not strange that madness should filch from
his memor}^ his father's very lineaments ; the customs and observances
that are his due from such as be about him ; and, leaving him his Latin,
strip him of his Greek and French? My lord, be not offended, but
ease my mind of its disquiet and receive my grateful thanks. It
haunteth me, his saying he was not the prince, and so " —

" Peace, my lord, thou utterest treason ! Hast forgot the king's
command ? Remember I am party to thy crime, if I but listen."

TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCriONS.

St. John paled, and hastened to say —

" I was ill fault, I do confess it. Betray me not, grant me this
grace out of thy courtesy, and I will neither think nor speak of this
thing more. Deal not hardly with me, sir, else am I ruined."

" I am content, my lord. So thou offend not again, here or in the
ears of others, it shall be as though thou hadst not spoken. But thou

PEACE, MY LORD, THOU UTTEREST TREASON!"

needst not have misgivings. He is my sister's son ; are not his voice,
his face, his form, familiar to me from his cradle ? Madness can do
all the odd conflicting things thou seest in him, and more. Dost not
recall how that the old Baron Marley, being mad, forgot the favor of
his own countenance that he had known for sixty years, and held it

TOM BECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS.

was another's ; nay, even claimed he was the son of Mary Magdalene,
and that his head was made of Spanish glass ; and sooth to say, he
suffered none to touch it, lest by mischance some heedless hand might
shiver it. Give thy misgivings easement, good ni}' lord. This is the

very prince, I know him well
— and soon will be thy king ; it
may advantage thee to bear this
in mind and more dwell upon it
than the other."

After some further talk, in
which the lord St. John covered
up his mistake as well as he could
by repeated protests that his faith
was thoroughly grounded, now,
and could not be assailed by
doubts again, the lord Hertford
relieved his fellow keeper, and sat
down to keep watch and ward
alone. He was soon deep in
meditation. And evidently the
longer he thought, the more he
was bothered. By and by he
began to pace the floor and
mutter.

" Tush, he must be the prince !
Will any he in all the land main-
tain there can be two, not of one
blood and birth, so marvellously
twinned? And even were it so, 'twere yet a stranger miracle that
chance should cast the one into the other's place. Nay, 'tis folly,
folly, folly ! "

HE BEGAN TO PACE THE FLOOK.

TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS. 85

Presently he said —

"Now were he impostor and called himself prince, look you that
would be natural; that would be reasonable. But lived ever an im-
postor yet, who, being called prince by the king, prince by the court,
prince by all, denied his dignity and pleaded against his exaltation?
No ! By the soul of St. Swithin, no ! This is the true prince, gone
mad!"

CHAPTER VII.

TOM'S FIRST ROYAL DINNER.

Somewhat after one in tlie afternoon, Tom resignedly underwent
the ordeal of being dressed for dinner. He found
himself as finely clothed as before, but every thing
different, every thing changed, from his ruff to his
stockings. He was presently conducted with much
state to a spacious and ornate apart-
ment, where a table was already set
for one. Its furniture was all of
massy gold, and beautified witli
desio'ns which well-nigli made it
priceless, since the}' were the
work of Benvenuto. The
room was half filled witli
^.^ noble servitors. A cha])lain

FASTENED A NAPKIX ^

ABOUT HIS NECK." Said grace, and Tom was about
to fall to, for hunger had long
been constitutional with him, but was interrupted
by my lord the Earl of Berkeley, who fastened
a napkin about his neck ; for the great post of
Diaperers to the Princes of Wales was hereditary
in this nobleman's family. Tom's cup-bearer was
present, and forestalled all his attempts to help
himself to wine. The Taster to his highness the

90 TOM'S FIRST EOYAL DINNER.

Prince of Wales was there also, prepared to taste any suspicious dish
upon requirement, and run the risk of being poisoned. He was only
an ornamental appendage at this time, and was seldom called upon to
exercise his function ; but there had been times, not many generations
past, when the office of taster had its perils, and was not a grandeur
to be desired. Why they did not use a dog or a plumber seems
strange ; but all the ways of royalty are strange. My lord d'Arcy,
First Groom of the Chamber, was there, to do goodness knows
what; but there he was — let that suffice. The Lord Chief Butler
was there, and stood behind Tom's chair, overseeing the solemnities,
under command of the Lord Great Steward and the Lord Head
Cook, who stood near. Tom had three hundred and eighty-four
servants beside these ; but they were not all in that room, of course,
nor the quarter of them ; neither was Tom aware yet that they
existed.

All those that were present had been well drilled within the hour
to remember that the prince was temporarily out of his head, and to
be careful to show no surprise at his vagaries. These " vagaries " were
soon on exhibition before them ; but they only moved their compassion
and their sorrow, not their mirth. It was a heavy affliction to them
to see the beloved prince so stricken.

Poor Tom ate with his fingers mainly ; but no one smiled at it, or
even seemed to observe it. He inspected his napkin curiously, and
with deep interest, for it was of a very dainty and beautiful fabric,
then said with simplicity, —

"Prithee take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be soiled."

The Hereditary Draperer took it away with reverent manner, and
without word or protest of any sort.

Tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with interest, and asked
what they were, and if they were to be eaten; for it was only re-
cently that men had begun to raise these things in England in place

TOM'S FIB ST ROYAL DINNER.

of importing them as luxuries from Holland.^ His question was an-
swered with grave respect, and no surprise manifested. When he liad
finished his dessert, he filled his pockets with nuts; but nobody ap-
peared to be aware of it, or disturbed by it. But the next moment
he was himself disturbed by it, and
showed discomposure ; for this was
the only service he liad been per-
mitted to do with his own hands
during the meal, and he did not
doubt that he had done a most
improper and unprincely thing.
At that moment the muscles of
his nose began to twitch, and the
end of that organ to lift and
wrinkle. This continued, and
Tom began to evince a grow-
ing distress. He looked
appealingly, first at one
and then another of the
lords about him, and tears
came into his eyes. They
sprang forward with dis-
may in their faces, and
begged to know his trouble,
genuine anguish, —

" I crave your indulgence : my nose itcheth cruelly. What is the
custom and usage in this emergence ? Prithee speed, for 'tis but a
little time that I can bear it."

None smiled ; but all were sore perplexed, and looked one to the
other in deep tribulation for counsel. But behold, here was a dead

TOM ATE WITH HIS

FINGEliS."

Tom said with

1 See note 4, at end of volume.

TOM'S FIRST ROYAL DINNER.

wall, and nothing in English history to tell liow to get over it. The
Master of Ceremonies was not present : there was no one who felt safe
to venture u])on this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this
solemn problem. Alas ! there was no Hereditary Scratcher. Meantime
the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun to trickle down Tom's
cheeks. His twitching nose was pleading more urgently than ever for
relief. At last nature broke down the barriers of etiquette : Tom
lifted up an inward prayer for pardon if he was doing wrong, and

brought relief to the burdened
hearts of his court b}' scratch-
ing his nose himself.

His meal being ended, a

lord came and held before him

a broad, shalloM^ golden dish

with fragrant rose-water in it,

to cleanse his mouth and

fingers with ; and my lord

the Hereditary Diaperer stood

b}' with a napkin for his use.

Tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or

two, then raised it to his lips, and gravely

took a draught. Then he returned it to the

waiting lord, and said, —

" Nay, it likes me not, my lord : it hath
a pretty flavor, but it wanteth strength."
This new eccentricit}^ of the prince's ruined mind made all the
hearts about him ache ; but the sad sight moved none to merriment.

Tom's next unconscious blunder was to get up and leave the table
just when the chaplain had taken his stand behind liis chair, and with
uplifted hands, and closed, uplifted eyes, was in the act of beginning
the blessing. Still nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had
done a thing unusual.

■ HK GRAVKLY TOOK A
DKAUGIIT."

TOM'S FIRST ROYAL BIN NEE.

By his own request, our small friend was now conducted to his
private cabinet, and left there alone to his own devices. Hanging
upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were the several pieces of a
suit of shining steel armor, covered all over with beautiful designs
exquisitely inlaid in gold. This .
martial panoply belonged to the
true prince, — a recent present
from Madam Parr the
Queen. Tom put on
the greaves, the gaunt-

TOM rUT 0.\ THE GKIiAVES.

lets, the plumed helmet, and such
other pieces as he could don with-
out assistance, and for a while
was minded to call for help and complete the
matter, but bethought him of the nuts he had
brought away from, dinner, and the joy it would be to eat them with
no crowd to eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries to pester him with
undesired services; so he restored the pretty things to their several
places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling almost naturally

94 TOM'S FIEST ROYAL DINNER.

happy for the first time since God for his sins had made liim a
prince. When the nuts were all gone, he stumbled upon some invit-
ing books in a closet, among them one about the etiquette of the
English court. This was a prize. He lay down upon a sumptuous
divan, and proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal. Let us
leave him there for the present.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL,

About five o'clock Henry VIII, awoke out of an mirefreshing nap,
and muttered to liiraself, " Troublous dreams, troublous dreams ! Mine
end is now at hand : so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do
confirm it." Presentl}' a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he
muttered, " Yet will not I die till he go before."

His attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of them asked
his pleasure concerning the Lord Chancellor, who was waiting without,

" Admit him, admit him ! " exclaimed the King eagerly.

The Lord Chancellor entered, and knelt by the King's couch, say-

iiig. —

"I have given order, and, according to the King's command, the
peers of the realm, in their robes, do now stand at the bar of the
House, where, having confirmed the Duke of Norfolk's doom, they
humbly wait his majesty's further pleasure in the matter."

The King's face lit up with a fierce joy. Said he, —

" Lift me up ! In mine own person will I go before my Parliament,
and with mine own hand will I seal the warrant that rids me of" —

His voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush from his cheeks;
and the attendants eased liim back upon his pillows, and hurriedly
assisted him with restoratives. Presently he said sorrowfully, —

"Alack, how have I longed for tliis sweet hour! and lo, too late
it cometh, and I am robbed of this so coveted chance. But speed ye,
speed ye ! let others do this happy office sith 'tis denied to me. I put

THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL.

my great seal in commission : choose thou tlie lords that shall compose
it, and get ye to your work. Speed ye, man ! Before the sun shall
rise and set arain, bring; me his head that I may see it."

" According to the King's command, so shall it be. WilFt please
your majesty to order that the Seal be no^v restored to me, so that I
may forth upon the business ? "

" The Seal ? AVho keepeth the Seal but thou ? "

"Please your majesty, you did take it from me two days since,

saying it should no
more do its office till
your own ro3'al hand
should use it upon

" THE ATTENDANTS EASED HIM BACK UPON HIS PILLOWS." tllC Dukc of Norfolk's

warrant."
" Why, so in sootli I did : I do remember it. . . . What did I with
it? ... 1 am yery feeble. ... So oft these days doth my memory
play the traitor with me. . . . 'Tis strange, strange " —

The King dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shaking his gray
head weakly from time to time, and gropingly trying to recollect what

THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL. 99

he had done with the Seal. At last my lord Hertford ventured to
kneel and offer information, —

" Sire, if that I may be so bold, here be several that do remember
with me how that you gave the Great Seal into the hands of his high-
ness the Prince of Wales to keep against the day that " —

" True, most true ! " interrupted the King. " Fetch it ! Go : time
flieth ! "

Lord Hertford flew to Tom, but returned to the King before very
long, troubled and empty-handed. He delivered himself to this
effect, —

"It grieve th me, my lord the King, to bear so heavy and unwelcome
tidings ; but it is the will of God that the prince's affliction abideth
still, and he cannot recall to mind that he received the Seal. So came
1 quickly to rejDort, thinking it were waste of precious time, and little
worth withal, that any should attempt to search the long array of
chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high " —

A groan from the King interrupted my lord at this point. After
a little while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in his tone, —

" Trouble him no more, poor child. The hand of God lietli heavy
upon him, and my heart goeth out in loving compassion for him, and
sorrow that I may not bear his burden on mine own old trouble-
weighted shoulders, and so bring him peace."

He closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was silent.
After a time he opened his eyes again, and gazed vacantly around
until his glance rested upon the kneeling Lord Chancellor. Listantly
his face flushed with wrath, —

" What, thou here yet ! By the glory of God, an' thou gettest not
about that traitor's business, thy mitre shall have holiday the morrow
for lack of a head to grace withal ! "

The trembling Chancellor answered, —

" Good your majesty, I cry you mercy ! I but waited for the
Seal."

100 THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL.

" Man, hast lost thy wits ? The small Seal which aforetime I was
wont to take with me abroad lieth in my treasury. And, since the
Great Seal hath flown away, shall not it suffice ? Hast lost thy wits ?
Begone ! And hark ye, — come no more till thou do bring his head."

The poor Chancellor was not long in removing himself from this
dangerous vicinity ; nor did the commission waste time in giving the
royal assent to the work of the slavish Parliament, and appointing the
morrow for the beheading of the premier peer of England, the luckless
Duke of Norfolk.!

1 See note 5, at end of volume.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RIVER PAGEANT.

At nine' in the evening the whole vast river-front of the palace
was blazing with light. The river itself, as far as the eye could reach
citywards, was so thickly covered with watermen's boats and with
pleasure-barges, all fringed with colored lanterns, and gently agitated
by the waves, that it resembled a glowing and limitless garden of
flowers stirred to soft motion by summer winds. The grand terrace
of stone steps leading down to the water, spacious enough to mass
the army of a German principality upon, was a picture to see, with
its ranks of royal halberdiers in polished armor, and its troops of
brilliantly costumed servitors flitting up and down, and to and fro, in
the hurry of preparation.

Presently a command was given, and immediately all living crea-
tures vanished from the steps. Now the air was heavy with the hush
of suspense and expectancy. As far as one's vision could carry, he
might see the myriads of people in the boats rise up, and shade their
eyes from the glare of lanterns and torches, and gaze toward the
palace.

A file of forty or fifty state barges drew up to the steps. They
were richly gilt, and their lofty prows and sterns were elaborately
carved. Some of them were decorated with banners and streamers ;
some with cloth-of-CTold and arras embroidered with coats-of-arms ;
others with silken flaGrs that had numberless little silver bells fastened
to them, which shook out tiny showers of joyous music whenever the

103

104

THE RIVER PAGEANT.

breezes fluttered thein : others of yet higher pretensions, since they
belonged to nobles in the prince's imme-
diate service, had their sides pictur-
esquely fenced with shields gorgeously
emblazoned with armorial bearings.
Each state barge was towed by a
tender. Besides the rowers, these
tenders carried each a number of
men-at-arms in glossy helmet and
breastplate, and a company of mu-
sicians.

"a tkoop of ualbekdiers ap-
peared IN THE GATEAVAY.''

The advance-guard of the
expected procession now ap-
peared in the great gateway,
a troop of halberdiers. '• They were dressed in striped hose of black
and tawny, velvet caps graced at the sides with silver roses, and

THE EIVEB PAGEANT. 105

doublets of murrey nnd blue cloth, embroidered ou the front and
back with the three feathers, the prince's blazon, woven in gold.
Their halberd staves were covered with crimson velvet, fastened with
gilt nails, and ornamented with gold tassels. Filing off on the right
and left, they formed two long lines, extending from the gateway of
the palace to the water's edge. A thick, rayed cloth or carpet was
then unfolded, and laid down between them by attendants in the gold-
ancl-crimson liveries of the prince. This done, a flourish of trumpets
resounded from within. A lively prelude arose from the musicians on
the water; and two ushers with white wands marched with a slow
and stately pace from the portal. They were followed by an officer
bearing the civic mace, after whom came another carrying the city's
sword ; then several sergeants of the city guard, in their full accoutre-
ments, and with badges on their sleeves ; then the garter king-at-arms,
in his tabard ; then several knights of the bath, each with a white lace
on his sleeve ; then their esquires ; then the judges, in their robes of
scarlet and coifs; then the lord high chancellor of England, in a robe
of scarlet, open before, and purfled with minever ; then a deputation of
aldermen, in their scarlet cloaks ; and then the heads of the different
civic companies, in their robes of state. Now came twelve French
gentlemen, in splendid habiliments, consisting of pourpoints of white
damask barred with gold, short mantles of crimson velvet lined with
violet taffeta, and carnation-colored hauts-de-chau8ses, and took their
way down the steps. They were of the suite of the French ambassa-
dor, and were followed by twelve cavaliers of the suite of the Spanish
ambassador, clothed in black velvet, unrelieved by any ornament.
Following' these came several o-reat English nobles with their attend-
ants."

There was a flourish of tnnnpets within ; and the i^rince's uncle,
the future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from the gateway, ar-
rayed in a "doublet of black cloth-of-gold, and a cloak of crimson

106

THE RIVER PAGEANT.

satin flowered with gold, and ribanded with nets of silver." He
turned, doffed his plumed cap, bent his body in a low reverence, and
began to step backward, bowing at each step. A prolonged trum-
pet-blast followed, and a proclamation, "Way for the high and
* mighty, the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales ! " Higli aloft on the
palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame leaped forth with a

thunder-crash : tlie massed world ou
the river burst into a mighty roar
of welcome ; and Tom Canty, the
cause and hero of it all, stepped
into view, and slightly bowed his
princely head.

He was "magnificently habited
in a doublet of white satin, with a
front-piece of purple cloth-of-tissue,
powdered with diamonds, and edged
with ermine. Over this he wore
a mantle of white cloth-of-gold,
pounced with the triple-feather
crest, lined witli blue satin, set
with pearls and precious stones,
and fastened with a clasp of bril-
liants. About his jieck hung the
order of the Garter, and several
jjrincely foreign orders ; " and wher-
ever light fell upon him jewels re-
sponded with a blinding flash. O Tom Canty, born in a hovel, bred
in the gutters of London, familiar with rags and dirt and misery,
what a spectacle is this !

TOM CANTY STEPPED INTO VIEW.

CHAPTER X.

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

We left John Canty dragging the rightful prince into Offal Court,
with a noisy and delighted mob at his heels. There was but one
person in it who offered a pleading word for the captive, and he was
not heeded: he was hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil.
The prince continued to struggle for freedom, and to rage against the
treatment he was suffering, until John Canty lost what little patience
was left in him, and raised his oaken cudgel in a sudden fury over the
prince's head. The single pleader for the lad sprang to stop the man's
arm, and the blow descended upon his own wrist. Canty roared out, —

" Thou'lt meddle, wilt thou ? Then have thy reward."

His cudgel crashed down upon the meddler's head : there was a
groan, a dim form sank to the ground among the feet of the crowd,
and the next moment it lay there in the dark alone. The mob pressed
on, their enjoyment nothing disturbed by this episode.

Presently the prince found himself in John Canty's abode, with
the door closed against the outsiders. By the vague light of a tallow
candle which was thrust into a bottle, he made out the main features
of the loathsome den, and also the occupants of it. Two frowsy girls
and a middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one corner,
with the aspect of animals habituated to harsh usage, and expecting
and dreading it now. From another corner stole a withered hag with
streaming gray hair and malignant eyes. John Canty said to this
one, —

10!)

110

THE PBINCE IN THE TOILS.

"■ Tany ! There's fine mummeries here. Mar them not till thou'st
enjoyed them ; then let thy hand be heavy as thou wilt. Stand
forth, lad. Now say thy foolery again, an" thou'st not forgot it. Name
thy name. Who art thou?"

The insulted blood mounted to the little prince's cheek once more,
and he lifted a steady and indignant gaze

to the man's

"'Tisbut

ill-breeding in such as thou
to command me
to speak. I tell
thee now, as I
told thee before,
I am E-dward,
Prince of Wales,
and none other."
The stunn-
ing surprise of
this reply nailed
the hag's feet to
the floor where
she stood, and
almost took her
)reath. She

stared at the
jDrince in stupid

" A DIM FOKJI SANK TO THE GROUND."

amazement,

which so amused
her ruffianly son, that he burst into a roar of laughter. But the effect
upon Tom Canty 's mother and sisters was different. Their dread of
bodily injury gave way at once to distress of a different sort. They
ran forward with woe and dismay in their faces, exclaiming, —

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

Ill

prince, put her hands upon his shoulders, and

gazed yearningly into his face through her rising tears. Then she

said, —

" O my poor boy ! thy foolish reading hath wrought its woful work
at last, and ta'en thy wit away. Ah ! why didst thou cleave to it
when I so warned thee 'gainst it ? Thou'st broke thy mother's heart."

The prince looked into her face, and said gently, —

" Thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good dame. Comfort
thee : let me to the palace where he is, and straightway will the King
my father restore him to thee."

" The King thy father ! O my child ! unsay these words that be
freighted with death for thee, and ruin for all that be near to thee.
Shake off this grewsome dream. Call back thy poor wandering

112 THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

memory. Look upon me. Am not I thy mother that bore thee, and
loveth thee?"

The prince shook his head, and reluctantly said, —

" God knoweth I am loath to grieve thy heart ; but truly have I
never looked upon thy face before."

The woman sank back to a sitting posture on the floor, and, cover-
ing her eyes with her hands, gave way to heartbroken sobs and
wailings.

" Let the show go on ! " shouted Canty. " What, Nan ! what. Bet !
Mannerless wenches ! will ye stand in the prince's presence ? Upon
your knees, ye pauper scum, and do him reverence ! "

He followed this with another horse-laugh. The girls began to
plead timidly for their brother ; and Nan said, —

" An' thou wilt but let him to bed, father, rest and sleep will heal
his madness : prithee, do."

" Do, father," said Bet : " he is more worn than is his wont. To-
morrow will he be himself again, and will beg with diligence, and come
not empty home again."

This remark sobered the father's joviality, and brought his mind to
business. He turned angrily upon the prince, and said, —

"The morrow must we pay two pennies to him that owns this
hole ; two pennies, mark ye, — all this money for a half-year's rent,
else out of this we go. Show what thou'st gathered Avith thy lazy
begging."

The prince said, —

" Offend me not with thy sordid matters. I tell thee agam I am
the King's son."

A sounding blow upon the prince's shoulder from Canty 's broad
palm sent him staggering into goodwife Canty's arms, who clasped
him to her breast, and sheltered him from a pelting rain of cuffs and
slaps by interposing her own person. The frightened girls retreated

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

113

to their corner ; but the grandmother stepped eagerly forward to assist
lier son. The prince sprang away from Mrs. Canty, exclaiming, —

" Thou shalt not suffer for me, madam. Let these swine do their
will upon me alone."

This speech infuriated the swine to such a degree that they set
about their work without waste of time. Between them they be-
labored the boy right
soundly, and then gave
the girls and their
mother a beating for
showing sympathy for
the victim.

"Now," said Can-
ty, " to bed, all of ye.
The entertainment has.
tired me."

The light was put
out, and the family
retired. As soon as
the snorings of the head of the house and his
mother showed that they were asleep, the young
girls crept to where the prince lay, and covered
him tenderly from the cold with straw and rags ;
and tlieir mother crept to him also, and stroked his hair, and cried
over him, whispering broken words of comfort and compassion in his
ear the while. She had saved a morsel for him to eat, also ; but the
l)oy's pains had swept away all appetite, — at least for black and <
tasteless crusts. He was touched by her brave and costly defencer^ofv.*.
him, and by her commiseration ; and he thanked her in very noble
and princely words, and begged her to go to her sleep and try to
forget her sorrows. And he added that the King his father would

SENT HIM STAGGEKING INTO
GOODWIFE canty' S AIIJIS."

114 THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

not let her loyal kindness and devotion go unrewarded. This return
to his " madness " broke her heart anew, and she strained him to her
breast again and again and then went back, drowned in tears, to her
bed.

As she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion began to creep
into her mind that there was an undefinable something about this
boy that was lacking in Tom Canty, mad or sane. She could not
describe it, she could not tell just what it was, and yet her sharp
mother-instinct seemed to detect it and perceive it. What if the boy
were really not her son, after all? O, absurd! She almost smiled
at the idea, spite of her griefs and troubles. No matter, she found
that it was an idea that would not " down," but persisted in haunting
her. It pursued her, it harassed her, it clung to her, and refused to be
put away or ignored. At last she perceived that there was not going
to be any peace for her until she should devise a test that should
prove, clearly and without question, whether this lad was her son or
not, and so banish these wearing and worrying doubts. Ah yes, this
was plainly the right way out of the difficulty ; therefore she set her
wits to work at once to contrive that test. But it was an easier thing
to propose than to accomplish. She turned over in her mind one
promising test after another, but was obliged to relinquish them all —
none of them were absolutely sure, absolutely perfect; and an imper-
fect one could not satisfy her. Evidently she was racking her head
in vain — it seemed manifest that she must give the matter up. While
this depressing thought was passing through her mind, her ear caught
the regular breathing of the boy, and she knew he had fallen asleep.
And while she listened, the measured breathing was broken by a soft,
startled cry, such as one utters in a troubled dream. This chance
occurrence furnished her instantly with a plan worth all her labored
tests combined. She at once set herself feverishly, but noiselessly, to
work, to relight her candle, muttering to herself, " Had I but seen him

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

115

then, I slionld have known ! Since that day, when he was little, that
the i30wder burst in his face, he hath never been startled of a sudden
out of his dreams or out of his thinkings, but he hath cast his hand
before his eyes, even as he did that day ; and not as others would do it,
^vith the palm inward, but always with the palm turned outward —
I have seen it a hundred times, and it hath never varied nor ever
failed. Yes, I shall soon know, now ! "

By this time she had crept to the slumbering boy's side, with the

SHK BENT IIEEDFULLY AND WARILY OVER HIM.

-^^ ^'^^ • candle, shaded, in her hand. She bent
heedfully and warily over him, scarcely
breathing, in her suppressed excitement, and suddenly flashed the
light in his face and struck the floor by his ear with her knuckles.
The sleeper's eyes sprung wide open, and he cast a startled stare about
him — but he made no special movement with his hands.

The poor woman was smitten almost helpless with surprise and
grief; but she contrived to hide her emotions, and to soothe the boy

116

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

to sleep again ; then she crept apart and communed miserably with
herself upon the disastrous result of her experiment. She tried to
believe that her Tom's madness had banished this habitual gesture of
his ; but she could not do it. " No," she said, " his hands are not mad,
they could not unlearn so old a habit in so brief a time. O, this is a
heavy day for me ! "

Still, hope was as stubborn, now, as doubt had been before ; she
could not bring herself to accept the verdict of the test ; she must try
the thing again — the failure must have been only an accident ; so she
startled the boy out of his sleep a second and a third time, at intervals

— with the same result
which had marked the
first test — then she
dragged herself to bed,
and fell sorrowfully
asleep, saying, " But I
cannot give him up —
O, no, I cannot, I can-
not — he must be my
boy I "

The poor mother's
interruptions having
ceased, and the prince's
pains having gradually
lost their power to dis-
turb him, utter weariness at last sealed his eyes in
a profound and restful sleep. Hour after hour slipped away, and still
he slept like the dead. Thus four or five hours passed. Then his
stupor began to lighten. Presently while half asleep and half awake,
he murmured —
" Sir William ! "

THE PKINCE SPRANG UP.

TEE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 117

After a moment —

" Ho, Sir William Herbert ! Hie thee hither, and list to the
strangest dream that ever ... Sir William ! dost hear ? Man, I did
think me changed to a pauper, and . . . Ho there ! Guards ! Sir
William ! What ! is there no groom of the chamber in waiting ?
Alack it shall go hard with " —

" What aileth thee ? " asked a whisper near him. " Who art thou
calling?"

" Sir William Herbert. Who art thou ? "

"I? Who should I be, but thy sister Nan? O, Tom, I had forgot !
Thou'rt mad yet — poor lad thou'rt mad yet, would I had never
woke to know it again ! But prithee master thy tongue, lest we be
all beaten till we die I "

The startled prince sprang partly up, but a sharp reminder from
his stiffened bruises brought him to himself, and he sunk back among
his foul straw with a moan and the ejaculation —

" Alas, it Avas no dream, then ! "

In a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which sleep had
banished were upon him again, and he realized that he was no longer
a petted prince in a palace, with the adoring eyes of a nation upon
him, but a pauper, an outcast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit
only for beasts, and consorting with beggars and thieves.

In the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of hilarious
noises and shoutings, apparently but a block or two away. The next
moment there were several sharp raps at the door ; John Canty ceased
from snoring and said —

" Who knocketh ? What wilt thou ? "

A voice answered —

"Know'st thou who it was thou laid thy cudgel on?"

" No. Neither know I, nor care."

" Belike thou'lt change thy note eftsoons. An' thou would save

118

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

thy neck, nothing bnt flight may stead thee. The man is this moment
delivering up the ghost. 'Tis the priest, Father Andrew ! "

" God-a-mercy ! " exclaimed Canty. He roused his family, and
hoarsely commanded, '• Up with ye all and fly — or bide where ye are
and perish ! "

Scarcely five minutes later the Canty household were in the street
and flying for their lives. John Canty held the prince by the wrist,

and hurried him
along the dark
way, giving him
this caution in
a low voice —

" Mind thy
tongue, thou
mad fool, and
speak not our
name. I will
choose me a new
name, speedily,
to throw the
law's dogs off the scent. JNIind
thy tongue, I tell thee ! "

He growled these words to
the rest of the family —

" If it so chance that we be

separated, let each make for

London bridge ; whoso findeth

himself as far as the last linen-draper's shop on the bridge, let him

tarry there till the others be come, then will we flee into Southwark

together."

At this moment the party burst suddenly out of darkness into

nUKRIED HIM ALONG THE DARK WAY.

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS. 119

light ; and not 011I3' into light, but into the midst of a multitude of
singing, dancing, and shouting people, massed together on the river
frontage. There was a line of bonfires stretching as far as one could
see, up and down the Thames ; London bridge was illuminated ;
Southwark bridge likewise ; the entire river was aglow with the flash
and sheen of colored lights ; and constant explosions of fireworks filled
the skies with an intricate commingling of shooting splendors and a
thick rain of dazzling sparks that almost turned night into day ; every-
where were crowds of revellers ; all London seemed to be at large.

John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and commanded a
retreat ; but it was too late. He and his tribe were swallowed up in
that swarming hive of humanity, and hopelessly separated from each
other in an instant. We are not considering that the prince was one
of his tribe ; Canty still kept his grip upon him. The prince's heart
was beating high with hopes of escape, now. A burly waterman,
considerably exalted with liquor, found himself rudely shoved, by
Canty, in his efforts to plough through the crowd ; he laid his great
hand on Canty's shoulder and said —

" Nay, whither so fast, friend ? Dost canker thy soul with sordid
business when all that be leal men and true make holiday?"

" Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not," answered
Canty, roughly ; " take away thy hand and let me pass."

" Sith that is thy humor, thou'lt not pass, till thou'st drunk to the
Prince of Wales, I tell thee that," said the waterman, barring the way
resolutely.

" Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed ! "

Other revellers were interested by this time. They cried out —

" The loving-cup, the loving-cup ! make the sour knave drink the
loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes."

So a huge loving-cup was brought ; the waterman, grasping it by
one of its handles, and with his other hand bearing up the end of an

120

THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS.

}

''ST'

imaginary napkin, presented it in due and ancient form to Cant}-, who
had to grasp the opposite handle with one of his hands and take off
the lid with the other, according to ancient custom.^ This left the

prince hand-free
for a second,
of course. He
wasted no time,
but dived
among the for-
est of legs about
him and disap-
peared. In an-
other moment
he could not
have been hard-
er to find, under
that tossing sea of life, if its billows had been
the Atlantic's and he a lost sixpence.

He very soon realized this fact, and

straightway busied himself about his own

affairs without further thought of John

Canty. He quickly realized another thing,

too. To wit, that a spurious Prince of Wales

was being feasted by the city in his stead. He easily concluded that

the pauper lad, Tom Canty, had deliberately taken advantage of his

stupendous opportunity and become a usui'per.

Therefore there was but one course to pursue — find his way to
the Guildhall, make himself known, and denounce the impostor. He
also made up his mind that Tom should be allowed a reasonable time
for spiritual preparation, and then be hanged, drawn and quartered,
according to the law and usage of the day, in cases of high treason.

1 See Note G. at end of volume.

HE WASTED NO TIME.

CHAPTER XI.

AT GUILDHALL.

The royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately way
down the Thames through the wilderness of illuminated boats. The
air was laden with music ; the river banks were beruffled with joy-
flames ; the distant city lay in a soft luminous glow from its countless
invisible bonfires ; above it rose many a slender spire into the sky,
in crusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their remoteness they
seemed like jewelled lances thrust aloft: as the fleet swept along, it
was greeted from the banks with a continuous hoarse roar of cheers
and the ceaseless flash and boom of artillery.

To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds
and this spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing.
To his little friends at his side, the princess Elizabeth and the lady
Jane Grey, they were nothing.

Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Wal-
brook (whose channel has now been for two centuries buried out of
sight under acres of buildings,) to Bucklersbury, past houses and
under bridges populous with merry-makers and brilliantly lighted,
and at last came to a halt in a basin where now is Barge Yard, in the
centre of the ancient city of London. Tom disembarked, and he and
his gallant procession crossed Cheapside and made a short march
through the Old Jewry and Basinghall street to the Guildhall.

Tom and his little ladies were received with due ceremony by the
Lord Mayor and the Fathers of the City, in their gold chains and

123

124

AT GUILDHALL.

scarlet robes of state, and conducted to a rich canopy of estate at the
head of the great hall, preceded by heralds making proclamation, and
by the Mace and the City Sword. The lords
and ladies who were to attend upon Tom
and his two small friends took their ulaces
behind their chairs.

At a lower table the court
grandees and other guests of
noble degree were seated,
with the magnates of the
city; the commoners took
places at a multitude of
tables on the main floor of
the hall. From their
lofty vantage-ground,
the giants Gog and
Magog, the ancient
guardians of the city,
contemplated the
spectacle below
them with eyes

A RICH CANOPY OF STATE.'

grown familiar to it in forgotten gen-
erations. There was a bugle-blast and a proclamation, and a fat butlei
appeared in a high perch in the leftward wall, followed by his servi-
tors bearing with impressive solemnity a royal Baron of Beef, smoking
hot and ready for the knife.

AT GUILDHALL. 125

After grace, Tom (being instructed) rose — and the whole house
with liim — and drank from a portly golden loving-cup with the prin-
cess Elizabeth ; from her it passed to the lady Jane, and then traversed
the general assemblage. So the banquet began.

By midnight the revelry was at its height. Now came one of those
picturesque spectacles so admired in that old day. A description of it
is still extant in the quaint wording of a chronicler who witnessed it :

" Space being made, presently entered a baron and an earl appar-
eled after the Turkish fashion in long robes of bawdkin powdered
with gold ; hats on their heads of crimson velvet, with great rolls of
gold, girded with two swords, called scimitars, hanging by great bawd-
ricks of gold. Next came yet another baron and another earl, in two
long gowns of yellow satin, traversed with white satin, and in every
bend of white was a bend of crimson satin, after the fashion of Russia,
with furred hats of gray on their heads ; either of them having an
hatchet in their hands, and boots with pokes'" (points a foot long),
"turned up. And after them came a knight, then the Lord High
Admiral, and with him five nobles, in doublets of crimson velvet,
voyded low on the back and before to the cannell-bone, laced on the
breasts with chains of silver ; and, over that, short cloaks of crimson
satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers' fashion, with pheas-
ants' feathers in them. These were appareled after the fashion of
Prussia. The torch-bearers, which were about an hundred, were ap-
pareled in crimson satin and green, like Moors, their faces black.
Next came in a mommarye. Then the minstrels, which were dis-
guised, danced ; and the lords and ladies did wildly dance also, that
it was a pleasure to behold."

And while Tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this "wild"
dancing, lost in admiration of the dazzling commingling of kaleido-
scopic colors which the whirling turmoil of gaudy figures below him

126 AT GUILDHALL.

presented, the ragged but real little prince of Wales was proclaiming
his rights and his wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and clamoring for
admission at the gates of Guildhall ! The crowd enjoyed this episode
prodigiously, and pressed forward and craned their necks to see the
small rioter. Presently they began to taunt him and mock at him,
purposely to goad him into a higher and still more entertaining fury.
Tears of mortification sprung to his eyes, but he stood his ground and
defied the mob right royally. Other taunts followed, added mockings
stung him, and he exclaimed —

" I tell ye again, you pack of unmannerly curs, I am the prince
of Wales ! And all forlorn and friendless as I be, with none to give
me word of grace or help me in my need, yet will not I be driven from
my ground, but will maintain it ! "

"Tliough thou be prince or no prince, 'tis all one, thou be'st a
gallant lad, and not friendless neither ! Here stand I by thy side to
prove it ; and mind I tell thee thou might'st have a worser friend than
Miles Hendon and yet not tire thy legs with seeking. Rest thy small
jaw, my child, I talk the language of these base kennel-rats like to a
very native."

The speaker was a sort of Don Caesar de Bazan in dress, aspect,
and bearing. He was tall, trim-built, muscular. His doublet and
trunks were of rich material, but faded and threadbare, and their
gold-lace adornments were sadly tarnished ; his ruff was rumpled and
damaged ; the plume in his slouched hat was broken and had a be-
draggled and disreputable look ; at his side he wore a long rapier in
a rusty iron sheath ; his swaggering carriage marked him at once as a
ruffler of the camp. The speech of this fantastic figure was received
with an explosion of jeers and laughter. Some cried, " 'Tis another
prince in disguise ! " " 'Ware thy tongue, friend, belike he is danger-
ous ! " "Marry, he looketh it — mark his eye!" "Pluck the lad
from him — to the horse-pond wi' the cub ! "

AT GUILDHALL.

127

Instantl}' a hand was laid upon the prince, under the impulse of
this happy thought; as instantly the stranger's long sword was out
and the meddler went to the earth under a sounding thump with the
flat of it. The next moment a score of voices shouted '■'• Kill the dog !
kill him I kill him I " and the mob closed in on the warrior, who

" BEGAN TO LAY ABOUT HIM.

backed himself against a wall and began to lay about him with his
long weapon like a madman. His victims sprawled this way and that,
but the mob-tide poured over their prostrate forms and dashed itself
against the champion with undiminished fury. His moments seemed
numbered, his destruction certain, when suddenly a trumpet-blast
sounded, a voice shouted, '' Way for the king's messenger ! " and a

128

AT GUILDHALL.

troop of horsemen came charging down upon the mob, who fled out
of harm's reach as fast as their legs could carry them. The bold
stranger caught up the prince in his arms, and was soon far away from
danger and the multitude.

Return we within the Guildhall. Suddenly, high above the jubi-
lant roar and thunder of the revel, broke
i clear peal of a bugle-note. There
was instant silence, — a deep
hush ; then a single voice rose
— that of the messenger from
the palace — and began to pipe
forth a proclamation, the whole
multitude standing, listening.
The closing words, solemnly
pronounced, were —
" The king is dead ! "

The great as-
semblage

teMI;'i^->^

LONG LIVE THE KING ! "

AT GUILDHALL. 129

bent their heads upon their breasts with one accord ; remained so, in
profound silence, a few moments ; then all sunk upon their knees in
a body, stretched out their Hands toward Tom, and a mighty shout
laurst forth that seemed to shake the building —

" Long live the king ! "

Poor Tom's dazed eyes wandered abroad over this stupefying spec-
tacle, and finally rested dreamily upon the kneeling princesses beside
him, a moment, then upon the earl of Hertford, A sudden purpose
dawned in his face. He said, in a low tone, at lord Hertford's ear —

" Answer me truly, on thy faith and honor ! Uttered I here a com-
mand, the which none but a king might hold privilege and prerogative
to utter, would such commandment be obeyed, and none rise up to say
me nay ? "

" None, my liege, in all these realms. In thy person bides the
majesty of England. Thou art the king — thy word is law."

Tom resj)onded, in a strong, earnest voice, and with great anima-
tion —

" Then shall the king's law be law of mercy, from this da}^, and
never more be law of blood ! Up from thy knees and away ! To the
Tower and say the king decrees the duke of Norfolk shall not die ! " ^

The words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip to lip far
and wide over the hall, and as Hertford hurried from the presence,
another prodigious sliout burst forth —

" The reign of blood is ended ! Long live Edward, king of

England ! "

1 See Note 7, at eud of volume.

CHAPTER XII

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

As soon as INIiles Hendon and the little prince were clear of the
mob, they struck down through back lanes and alleys toward the
river. Their way was unobstructed until they approached London
Bridge ; then the}' ploughed into the multitude again, Hendon keeping
a fast grip upon the j^rince's — no, the king's — wrist. The tremen-
dous news was already abroad, and the boy learned it from a thousand
voices at once — " The king is dead ! " The tidings struck a chill to
the heart of the poor little waif, and sent a shudder through his frame.
He realized the greatness of his loss, and was filled with a bitter grief ;
for the grim tyrant who had been such a terror to others had always
been gentle with him. The tears sprung to his eyes and blurred all
objects. For an instant he felt himself the most forlorn, outcast, and
forsaken of God's creatures — then another cry shook the night with
its far-reaching thunders : " Long live King Edward the Sixth ! " and
this made his eyes kindle, and thrilled him with pride to his fingers'
ends. " Ah," he thought, " how grand and strange it seems — I am
King ! "

Our friends threaded their way slowly through the throngs upon
the Bridge. This structure, which had stood for six hundred years,
and had been a noisy and populous thoroughfare all that time, was a
curious affair, for a closely packed rank of stores and shops, with
family quarters overhead, stretched along both sides of it, from one
bank of the river to the other. The Bridge was a sort of town to

133

134

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVEIiER.

itself; it had its inn, its beer houses, its bakeries, its haberdasheries,
its food markets, its manufacturing industries, and even its church. It
looked upon the two neighbors which it linked together — London and
Southwark — as being well enough, as suburbs, but not otherwise par-

OUK FRIENDS THREADED THEIR AVAY.

ticularly important. It was a close corporation, so to speak ; it was a
narrow town, of a single street a fifth of a mile long, its population
was but a village population, and everybody in it knew all his fellow
townsmen intimately, and had known their fathers and mothers before

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER. 135

them — and all their little family affairs into the bargain. It had its
aristocrac}^ of course — its fine old families of butchers, and bakers,
and what-not, who had occupied the same old premises for five or six
hundred years, and knew the great history of the Bridge from begin-
ning to end, and all its strange legends ; and who always talked bridgy
talk, and thought bridgy thoughts, and lied in a long, level, direct,
substantial bridgy way. It was just the sort of population to be
narrow and ignorant and self-conceited. Children were born on the
Bridge, were reared there, grew to old age and finally died without
ever having set a foot upon any part of the world but London Bridge
alone. Such people would naturally imagine that the mighty and
interminable procession which moved through its street night and day,
with its confused roar of shouts and cries, its neighings and bellowings
and bleatings and its muffled thunder-tramp, was the one great thing
in this world, and themselves somehow the proprietors of it. And so
they were, in effect — at least they could exhibit it from their win-
dows, and did — for a consideration — whenever a returning king or
hero gave it a fleeting splendor, for there was no place like it for
affording a long, straight, uninterrupted view of marching columns.

Men born and reared upon the Bridge found life unendurably dull
and inane, elsewhere. History tells of one of these who left the Bridge
at the age of seventy-one and retired to the country. But he could
only fret and toss in his bed ; he could not go to sleep, the deep still-
ness was so painful, so awful, so oppressive. When he was worn out
with it, at last, he fled back to his old home, a lean and haggard
spectre, and fell peacefully to rest and pleasant dreams under the lull-
ing music of the lashing waters and the boom and crash and thunder
of London Bridge.

In the times of which we are writing, the Bridge furnished " object
lessons" in English history, for its children — namely, the livid and
decaying heads of renowned men impaled upon iron spikes atoj) of its
gateways. But we digress.

136

THE PBINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

Henclon's lodgings were in the little inn on the Bridge. As he
neared the door with his small friend, a rough voice said —

"So, thou'rt come at last I Thoult not escape again, I warrant
thee ; and if pounding thy bones to a pudding can teach thee some-
what, thou'lt not keep us waiting another time, mayhap" — and John
Canty put out his hand to seize the boy.

Miles Hendon stepped in the way and said —

"Not too fast, friend. Thou
art needlessly rough, methinks.
What is the lad to thee ? "

" If it be any business of thine
to make and meddle in others'
affairs, he is my son."

" 'Tis a lie ! " cried the little
king, hotly.

"Boldly said, and I believe
^-}^^^?''~- thee, whether thy small head-piece
be sound or cracked, my boy.
But whether this scurvy ruffian
be thy father or no, 'tis all one,
"OBJECT LESSONS" IN ENGLISH HISTORY, j^^ ^Yi'iiW uot havc thcc to beat thee

and abuse, according to his threat, so thou prefer to bide with me."

"I do, I do — I know him not, I loathe him, and will die before I
will go with him."

" Then 'tis settled, and there is nought more to say."
"We will see, as to that!" exclaimed John Canty, striding past
Hendon to get at the boy ; " by force shall he " —

"If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee
like a goose ! " said Hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon
his sword hilt. Canty drew back. " Now mark ye," continued Hen-
don, " I took this lad under my protection when a mob of such as thou

life-

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

137

would have mishandled him, mayhap killed him ; dost imagine I will
desert him now to a worser fate ? — for whether thou art his father or
no, — and sooth to say, I think it is a lie — a decent swift death were
better for such a lad than life in such brute hands as thine. So go

JOHN CANTY MOVED OFF.

thy ways, and set quick about it, for I like not much bandying of
words, being not over-patient in my nature."

John Canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, and was
swallowed from sight in the crowd. Hendon ascended three flights
of stairs to his room, with his charge, after ordering a meal to be sent
thither. It was a poor apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds

138 THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

and ends of old furniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple
of sickly candles. The little king dragged himself to the bed and lay
down upon it, almost exhausted with hunger and fatigue. He had
been on his feet a good part of a day and a night, for it was now two
or three o'clock in the morning, and had eaten nothing meantime. He
murmured drowsily —

" Prithee call me when the table is spread," and sunk into a deep
sleep immediately.

A smile twinkled in Hendon's eye, and he said to himself —

" By the mass, the little beggar takes to one's quarters and usurps
one's bed with as natural and easy a grace as if he owned them — with
never a by-your-leave or so-please-it-you, or any thing of the sort. In
his diseased ravings he called himself the prince of Wales, and bravely
doth he keep up the character. Poor little friendless rat, doubtless his
mind has been disordered with ill usage. Well, I will be his friend;
I have saved him, and it draweth me strongly to him ; already I love
the bold-toncfued little rascal. How soldier-like he faced the smuttv
rabble and flung back his high defiance ! And what a comely, sweet
and gentle face he hath, now that sleep hath conjured away its troubles
and its griefs. I will teach him, I will cure his malady ; yea, I will be
his elder brother, and care for him and watch over him ; and whoso
would shame him or do him hurt, may order his shroud, for tliough I
be burnt for it he shall need it ! "

He bent over the boy and contemplated him with kind and pitying
interest, tapping the young cheek tenderly and smoothing back the
tangled curls with his great brown hand. A slight shiver passed over
the boy's form. Hendon muttered —

" See, now, how like a man it was to let him lie here uncovered
and fill his body with deadly rheums. Now what shall I do? 'twill
wake him to take him up and put him within the bed, and he sorely
needeth sleep."

THE PRINCE AND UIS DELIVEEEE.

139

He looked about for extra covering, but finding none, doffed his
doublet and wrapped the lad in it, saying, " I am used to nipping air
and scant apparel, 'tis little I shall mind the cold " — then walked up
and down the room to keep his blood in motion, soliloquii^ing, as
before.

"SMOOTHING BACK THE TANGLED CURLS.

^\ " His injured mind persuades him

he is prince of Wales ; 'twill be odd to
have a prince of Wales still with us,
now that he that tvas the prince is prince
no more, but king, — for this poor mind is set upon the one fantasy,
and will not reason out that now it should cast by the prince and
call itself the king. ... If my father liveth still, after these seven
years that I liave heard nought from home in my foreign dungeon,
he will welcome the poor lad and give him generous shelter for my
sake ; so will my good elder brother, Arthur ; my other brother, Hugh
— but I will crack his crown, an' he interfere, the fox-hearted, ill-

140 THE PBINCE AND HIS DELIVEBEB.

conditioned animal ! Yes, thither will we fare — and straightway,
too."

A servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it upon a small
deal table, placed the chairs, and took his departure, leaving such
cheap lodgers as these to wait upon themselves. The door slammed
after him, and the noise woke the boy, who sprung to a sitting posture,
and shot a glad glance about him ; then a grieved look came into his
face and he murmured, to himself, with a deep sigh, "Alack, it was
but a dream, woe is me." Next he noticed Miles Hendon's doublet —
glanced from that to Hendon, comprehended the sacrifice that had
been made for him, and said, gently —

" Thou art good to me, yes, thou art very good to me. Take it and
put it on — I shall not need it more."

Then he got up and walked to the Avashstaiid in the corner, and
stood there, waiting. Hendon said in a cheery voice —

" We'll have a right hearty sup and bite, now, for every thing is
savory and smoking hot, and that and thy nap together will make thee
a little man again, never fear ! "

The boy made no answer, but bent a steady look, that was filled
with grave surprise, and also somewhat touched with impatience, uj^on
the tall knight of the sword. Hendon was puzzled, and said —

" What's amiss ? "

" Good sir, I would wash me."

" O, is that all ! Ask no permission of Miles Hendon for aught
thou cravest. Make thyself perfectly free here, and welcome, with all
that are his belongings."

Still the boy stood, and moved not ; more, he tapped the floor once
or twice with his small impatient foot. Hendon was wholly perplexed.
Said he —

" Bless us, what is it ? "

" Prithee pour the water, and make not so manj^ words ! "

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

141

Hendon, suppressing a horse-laugh, and saying to himself, " By all
the saints, but this is admirable ! " stepped l)risldy forward and did
the small insolent's bidding ; then stood by, in a sort of stupefaction,
until the command, "Come — the towel!" woke him sharply up. He
took up a towel, from under the boy's nose, and handed it to him,

without com-
m e n t. He
now proceed-
ed to comfort
his own face
with a wash,
and while he
was at it his
adopted cliild
seated him-
self at the
table and pre-
pared to fall to. Hendon despatched
his ablutions with alacrity, then
drew back the other chair and was
about to place himself at table, when
the boy said, indignantly —

" Forbear ! Wouldst sit in the
presence of the king ? "
This blow staggered Hendon to his foundations. He muttered
to himself, " Lo, the poor thing's madness is up with the time ! it
hath changed with the great change that is come to the realm, and
now in fancy is he king ! Good lack, I must humor the conceit, too
— there is no other way — faith, he would order me to the Tower,
else ! "

And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table,

PRITHEE, POUR THE WATER.'

142

THE PBINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

took his stand behind the king, and proceeded to wait upon him in the
courtliest way he was capable of.

While the king ate, the rigor of his royal dignity relaxed a little,
and with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. He said —

" I think thou callest

I ^:^

thyself Miles Hendon, if
I heard thee aright ? "

" Yes, sire," Miles re-
plied ; then observed to
himself, " If I must hu-
mor the poor lad's mad-
ness, I must sire him, I
must majesty him, I must
not go by halves, I must
stick at nothing that be-
longeth to the part I
play, else shall I play it ill and work evil to
this charitable and kindly cause."

The kinff warmed his heart with a second

glass of wine, and said — "I would know

thee — tell me thy story. Thou hast a gallant

way with thee, and a noble — art nobly born ? "

"We are of the tail of the nobility, good your majesty. My

father is a baronet — one of the smaller lords, by knight service ^ —

Sir Richard Hendon, of Hendon Hall, by Monk's Holm in Kent."

" The name has escaped my memory. Go on — tell me thy
story."

" 'Tis not much, your majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a short
half hour for want of a better. My father, Sir Richard, is very rich,

1 He refers to the order of baronets; or baronettes, — the barones minores, as distinct
from the parliamentary barons; —not, it need hardly be said, the baronets of later creation.

"go on — TELL ME THY

STORY.

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER. 143

and of a most generous nature. My mother died whilst I was yet a
boy. I have two brothers : Arthur, my elder, with a soul like to his
father's ; and Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous, treacher-
ous, vicious, underhanded — a reptile. Such was he from the cradle;
such was he ten years past, when I last saw him — a ripe rascal at
nineteen, I being twenty, then, and Arthur twenty-two. There is none
other of us but the lady Edith, my cousin — she was sixteen, then —
beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, the last of her race,
heiress of a great fortune and a lapsed title. My father was her
guardian. I loved lier and she loved me ; but she was betrothed to
Arthur from the cradle, and Sir Richard would not suffer the contract
to be broken. Arthur loved another maid, and bade us be of good
cheer and hold fast to the hope that delay and luck together would
some day give success to our several causes. Hugh loved the lady
Edith's fortune, though in truth he said it was herself he loved — but
then 'twas his way, alway, to say the one thing and mean the other.
But he lost his arts upon the girl ; he could deceive my father, but
none else. My father loved him best of us all, and trusted and be-
lieved him ; for he was the youngest child and others hated him —
these qualities being in all ages sufficient to win a parent's dearest
love ; and he had a smooth persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift
of lying — and these be qualities which do mightily assist a blind affec-
tion to cozen itself. I was wild — in troth I might go yet farther and
say vevT/ wild, though 'twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it
hurt none but me, brought shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any
taint of crime or baseness, or what might not beseem mine honorable
degree.

"Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good account —
he seeing that our brother Arthur's health was but indifferent, and
hoping the worst might work him profit were I swept out of the path
— so, — but 'twere a long tale, good my liege, and little worth the

144 THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVEEER.

telling. Briefly, then, this brother did deftly magnify my faults and
make them crimes ; ending his base work with finding a silken ladder
in mine apartments — conveyed thither by his own means — and did
convince my father by this, and suborned evidence of servants and
other lying knaves, that I was minded to carry off my Edith and marry
with her, in rank defiance of his will.

" Three years of banishment from home and England might make
a soldier and a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree
of wisdom. I fought out tny long probation in the continental wars,
tasting sumptuously of hard knocks, privation and adventure ; but in
my last battle I was taken captive, and during the seven years that
have waxed and waned since then, a foreign dungeon hath harbored
me. Through wit and courage I won to the free air at last, and fled
hither straight ; and am but just arrived, right poor in purse and
raiment, and poorer still in knowledge of what these dull seven years
have wrought at Hendon Hall, its people and l)elongings. So please
you, sir, my meagre tale is told."

" Thou hast been shamefully abused ! " said the little king, with a
flashing eye. "But I will right thee — by the cross will I! The
king hath said it."

Then, fired by the story of Miles's wrongs, he loosed his tongue
and poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of
his astonished listener. When he had finished. Miles said to himself —

"Lo, what an imagination he hath! Verily this is no common
mind ; else, crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a
tale as this out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this
curious romaunt. Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or
shelter whilst I bide with the living. He shall never leave my side ;
he shall be my pet, my little comrade. And he shall be cured! — aye,
made whole and sound — then will he make himself a name — and
proud shall I be to say, ' Yes, he is mine — I took him, a homeless little

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

145

rao"amuffiii, but I saw what was in him, and I said liis name would be
heard some day — behold him, observe him — was I right ? ' "
The king spoke — in a thoughtful, measured voice —
" Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so
my crown. Such service demandeth rich reward. Name thy desire,
and so it be
within the com-
pass of my royal

power,

it is

thine."

This fantas-
tic suggestion
startled Plendon
out of his rev-
ery. He was
about to thank
the king and put
the matter aside
with saying he
had only done
his duty and de-
sired no reward,
but a wiser
thought came
into his head,

and he asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider the
gracious oifer — an idea which the king gravely approved, remarking
that it was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great
import.

Miles reflected during some moments, then said to himself, "■ Yes,
that is the thing to do — by any other means it were impossible to get

THOU HAST BEEN SHAMEFULLY ABUSED.

146

THE P BINGE AND HIS DELIVERER.

at it — and certes, this hour's experience has taught me 'twould be
most wearing and inconvenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will
propose it ; 'twas a happy accident that I did not throw the chance
away." Then he dropped upon one knee and said —

" My poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject's simple
duty, and therefore hath no merit ; but since your majesty is pleased

to hold it worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to make petition
to this effect. Near four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth,
there being ill blood betwixt John, King of England, and the King of
France, it was decreed that two champions should fight together in the
lists, and so settle the dispute by what is called the arbitrament of

THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVEREB. 147

God. These two kings, and the Spanish king, being assembled to
witness and judge the conflict, the French champion appeared ; but so
redoubtable was he, that our English knights refused to measure
weapons with him. So the matter, which was a weighty one, was like
to go against the English monarch by default. Now in the Tower lay
the lord de Courcy, the mightiest arm in England, stripped of his
honors and possessions, and wasting with long captivity. Appeal was
made to him ; he gave assent, and came forth arrayed for l)attle ; but
no sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge frame and hear his
famous name but he fled away, and the French king's cause was lost.
King John restored de Courcy's titles and possessions, and said, ' Name
thy Avisli and thou shalt have it, though it cost me half my kingdom ; '
whereat de Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, made answer, ' This, then,
I ask, my liege ; that I and my successors may have and hold the
privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings of England,
henceforth while the throne shall last.' The boon was granted, as
your majesty knoweth ; and there hath been no time, these four Inm-
dred years, that that line has failed of an heir ; and so, even unto this
day, the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before
the king's majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may
do.' Invoking this precedent in aid of ni}^ prayer, I beseech the king
to grant to me but this one grace and privilege — to my more than
sufficient reward — and none other, to wit: that I and my heirs, for-
ever, may sit in the presence of the majesty of England ! "

" Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight," said the king, gravely — giving
the accolade with Hendon's sword — "rise, and seat thyself. Thy
petition is granted. Whilst England remains, and the crown con-
tinues, the privilege shall not lapse."

His majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a
chair at table, observing to himself, " 'Twas a brave thought, and hath

1 The lords of Kingsale, descendauts of de Courcy, still eujoy this curious privilege.

148

THE PEINCE AND HIS DELIVERER.

wrought me a mighty deliverance ; ray legs are grievously wearied.
An" I liad not thought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks,
till my poor lad's wits are cured." After a little, he went on, "And so
I am become
a knight of
the Kingdom
6f D r e a m s
and Shadows !
A most odd
and strange
position, tru-
ly, for one so
matter-of-fact
as 1. I will
not laugh —
no, God for-
bid, for this
thing which

is so substanceless to me is real to
him. And to me, also, in one way, it
is not a falsity, for it reflects with truth
the sweet and generous spirit that is
in him." After a pause: "Ah, what
if he should call me by my fine title
before folk ! — there'd be a merry con-
trast betwixt my glory and my raiment !

But no matter : let him call me what he will, so it please him ; ]
shall be content."

/■■

OF ^^c PRincc,

CHAPTER XIII,

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE,

A HEAVY drowsiness presently fell upon the two comrades. The
king said —

"Remove these rags" — meaning his clothing.

Hendon disapparellecl the boy without dissent or remark, tucked
him up in bed, then glanced about the room, saying to himself, rue-
fully, "He hath taken my bed again, as before — marry, what shall 1
do ? " The little king observed his perplexity, and dissipated it witli
a word. He said, sleepily —

" Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it." In a moment
more he was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber.

" Dear heart, he should have been born a king ! " muttered Hendon,
admiringly ; " he play-
eth the part to a mar-
vel."

Then he stretched
himself across the
door, on the floor,
saying contentedly —

" I have lodged
worse for seven years ;
'twould be but ill
gratitude to Him
above to find fault with this."

"HE DROPPED ASLEEP.

151

152 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE.

He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared- Toward noon he rose,
uncovered his unconscious ward — a section at a time — and took his
measure with a string. Tlie king awoke, just as he had completed his
work, complained of the cold, and asked what he was doing.

" "Tis done, now, my liege," said Hendon ; " I have a bit of busi-
ness outside, but will presently return ; sleep thou again — thou

needest it. There — let me cover thy head also — thoult be warm
the sooner."

The king was back in dreamland before this speech was ended.
Miles slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in again, in the course
of thirty or forty minutes, with a complete second-hand suit of boy's
clothing, of cheap material, and showing signs of wear ; but tidy, and
suited to the season of the year. He seated himself, and besfan to
overhaul his purchase, mumbling to himself —

" A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when one has
not the long purse one must be content with what a short one may
do —

" ' There was a woman in our town,
In our town did dwell ' —

" He stirred, methinks — I must sing in a less thunderous key ;
'tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before him and he
so wearied out, poor chap. . . . This garment — 'tis well enough — a .
stitch here and another one there will set it aright. This other is
better, albeit a stitch or two will not come amiss in it, likewise. . . .
These be very good and sound, and Avill keep his small feet warm and
dry — an odd new thing to him, belike, since he has doubtless been
used to foot it bare, winters and summers the same. . . . Would
thread were bread, seeing one getteth a year's sufficiency for a far-
thing, and such a brave big needle without cost, for mere love. Now
shall I have the demon's own time to thread it ! "

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE.

153

Aiul so he had. He did as men have always done, and probably
always will do, to the end of time — held the needle still, and tried to
thrust the thread through the eye, which is the opposite of a woman's
way. Time and time agahi the thread missed the mark, going some-
times on one side of
the needle, sometimes
on the other, some-
times doubling up
against the shaft ; but
he was patient, having
been through these ex-
periences before, when
he was soldiering. He
succeeded at last, and
took up the garment
that had lain Avaiting,
meantime, across his
lap, and began his
work.

'' The inn is paid

— the breakfast that
is to come, included

— and there is where-
withal left to buy a
couple of donkeys and
meet our little costs

for the two or three days betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us
at Hendon Hall —

" ' She loved her hus ' —

THESK BK VERY GOOD AND SOUND.'

" Body o' me ! I have driven the needle under my nail !

154 THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE.

matters little — "tis not a novelty — yet 'tis not a convenience, neither.
. . . We shall be merry there, little one, never doubt it ! Thy
troubles ^vill vanisli, there, and likewise thy sad distemper —

^.
" ' She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man ' —

"These be noble large stitches!" — holding the garment up and

viewing it admiringly — ''they have a grandeur and a majesty that do

cause these small stingy ones of the tailor-man to look mightily paltry

and plebeian —

" ' She loved her husband dearilee,
But another man he loved she,' —

"Marry, 'tis done — a goodly piece of work, too, and wrought with
expedition. Now will I wake him, apparel him, pour for him, feed
him, and then will we hie us to the mart by the Tabard inn in South-
wark and — be pleased to rise, my liege ! — he answereth not — what
lio, my liege ! — of a truth must I profane his sacred person with a
touch, sith his slumber is deaf to speech. What ! "

He threw back the covers — the boy was gone !

He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a moment ;
noticed for the first time that liis ward's ragged raiment was also miss-
ing, then he began to rage and storm, and shout for the innkeeper. —
At that moment a servant entered with the breakfast.

" Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come ! " roared the
man of war, and made so savage a spring toward the waiter that this
latter could not find his tongue, for the instant, for fright and sur-
prise. " Where is tlie boy ? "

In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the information
desired.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PBTNCE.

155

" You were hardly gone from the place, yonr worship, when a
youth came running and said it was your worship's will that the boy
come to you straight, at the bridge-end on the Southwark side. I

g brought him hither ; and
when he woke the lad and
gave his message, the lad
did grumble some little for
being disturbed ' so early,'
as he called it, but straight-
way trussed on his rags and
went with the youth, only
saying it had been better

manners that your worship came yourself, not sent a stranger — and

so" —

"And so thou'rt a fool! — a fool, and easily cozened — hang all thy
breed ! Yet mayhap no hiu^t is done. Possibly no harm is meant the

156

THE DISAPPEABANCE OF THE PRINCE.

boy. I will go fetch him. Make the table read3\ Stay ! the cover-
ings of the bed were disposed as. if one lay beneath them — happened
that by accident ? "

"I know not, good your worship. I saw the youth meddle with
them — he that came for the boy."

" Thousand deaths ! 'twas
done to deceive me — 'tis plain
'twas done to gain time. Hark
ye ! Was that youth alone ? "
'' All alone, yoin- worship."
" Art sure ? "
" Sure, your worship."
'' Collect thy scattered wits
— bethink thee — take time,
man."

After a moment's thought,
the servant said —

" When he came, none came
with him ; but now I remember
me that as the two stepped into
the throng of the Bridge, a
ruffian-looking man i)lunged out
from some near place ; and just
as he was joining them " —

'' What then ? — out with
it ! " thundered the impatient
Henclon, interrupting.

" Just then the crowd lapped
them up and closed them in, and
I saw no more, being called by my master, who was in a rage because a
joint that the scrivener had ordered was forgot, though I take all the

HENDON FOLLOWED AFTER PUM

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE. 157

saints to witness that to blame me for that miscarriage were like hold-
ing the unborn babe to judgment for sins com " —

" Out of my sight, idiot I Thy prating drives me mad ! Hold !
wliither art flying? Canst not bide still an instant? Went they
toward South wark ? "

"Even so, your worshi}) — for, as I said before, as to that detest-
able joint, tne babe unborn is no whit more blameless than" —

"Art here yet! And prating still? Vanish, lest I throttle thee!"
The servitor vanished. Hendon followed after him, passed him, and
plunged down the stairs two steps at a stride, muttering, " 'Tis that
scurvy villain that claimed he was his son. I have lost thee, my poor
little mad master — it is a bitter thouglit — and I had come to love
thee so ! No ! by book and bell, not lost ! Not lost, for I will ransack
the land till I find thee again. Poor child, yonder is his l)reakfast —
and mine, but I have no hunger now — so, let the rats have it — speed,
speed ! that is the word ! " As he wormed his swift way through the
noisy multitudes upon the Bridge, he several times said to himself —
clinging to the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one — " He
grumbled, but he went — he went, yes, because he thought Miles Hen-
don asked it, sweet lad — he would ne'er have done it for another, I
know it well."

CHAPTER XIV.

"LE ROI EST MORT — VIVE LE ROI."

Toward daylight of the same morning, Tom Canty stirred out of
a heavy sleep and opened his eyes in the dark. He lay silent a few
moments, trying to analyze his confused thoughts and impressions, and
get some sort of meaning out of them, then suddenly he burst out in
a rapturous but guarded voice —

" I see it all, I see it all ! Now God be thanked, I am indeed
awake at last ! Come, joy ! vanish, sorrow ! Ho, Nan ! Bet ! kick off
your straw and hie ye hither to my side, till I do pour into your un-
believing ears the wildest madcap dream that ever the spirits of night
did conjure up to astonish the soul of man withal ! . . . Ho, Nan, I
say ! Bet ! " . . .

A dim form appeared at his side, and a voice said —

" Wilt deign to deliver thy commands ? "

" Commands ? . . . O, woe is me, I know thy voice ! Speak, thou
— who am I ? "

''Thou? In sooth, yesternight wert thou the prince of Wales,
to-day art thou my most gracious liege, Edward, King of England."

Tom buried his head among his pillows, murmuring plaintively —

" Alack, it was no dream ! Go to thy rest, sweet sir — leave me to
my sorrows."

Tom slept again, and after a time he had this pleasant dream. He
thought it was summer and he was playing, all alone, in the fair

161

162

LE BOI EST MOET — VIVE LE ROi:'

meadow called Goodman's Fields, when a dwarf only a foot high, with
long red whiskers and a humped back appeared to him suddenly and
said, " Dig, by that stump." He did so, and found twelve bright new
pennies — wonderful riches! Yet this was not the best of it; for the
dwarf said —

"I know thee. Thou art a good lad and a deserving; thy dis-

fr , !,' '

WILT DEIGN TO DELIVER THY COMMANDS ? "

tresses shall end, for the day of thy reward is come. Dig here every
seventh day, and thou shalt find always the same treasure, twelve
bright new pennies. Tell none — keep the secret."

Then the dwarf vanished, and Tom flew to Offal Court with his
prize, saying to himself, " Every night will I give my father a penny ;
he will think I begged it, it will glad his heart, and I shall no more be

'' LE BOI EST MOBT — VIVE LE ROi:' 163

beaten. One penny every week the good priest that teacheth me shall
have ; mother, Nan and Bet the other four. We be done with hunger
and rags, now, done with fears and frets and savage usage."

In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of breath, but with
eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm ; cast four of his pennies into
his mother's lap and cried out —

"They are for thee! — all of them, every one! — for thee and Nan
and Bet — and honestly come by, not begged nor stolen ! *'

Tlie happy and astonished mother strained him to her breast and
exclaimed —

" It waxeth late — may it please your majesty to rise ? "

Ah, that was not the answer he was expecting. The dream had
snapped asunder — he was awake.

He opened his eyes — the richly clad First Lord of the Bedchamber
was kneeling by his couch. The gladness of the lying dream faded
away ^ the poor boy recognized that he was still a captive and a king.
The room was filled with courtiers clothed in purple mantles — the
mourning color — and with noble servants of the monarch. Tom sat
up in bed and gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this fine
company.

The weighty business of dressing began, and one courtier after
another knelt and paid his court and offered to the little King his con-
dolences upon his heavy loss, whilst the dressing proceeded. In the
beginning, a shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who
passed it to the First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the
Second Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head
Ranger of Windsor Forest, who passed it to the Third Groom of the
Stole, who passed it to the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancas-
ter, who passed it to the Master of the Wardrobe, who passed it to
Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to the Constable of the Tower,
who passed it to the Chief Steward of the Household, who passed it

164

LE ROI EST MORT — VIVE LE ROi:

to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it to. the Lord High
Admiral of England, who ]3assed it to the Archbishop of Canterbury,
who passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took what was
left of it and put it on Tom. Poor little wondering chap, it reminded
him of passing buckets at a fire.

Each garment in its turn had to go through this slow and solemn
process ; consequently Tom grew very weary of the ceremony ; so
weary that he felt an almost gushing gratefulness when he at last saw
his long silken hose begin the journey down the line and knew that

THE FIRST LORD OF THE BEDCHAMBER RECEIVED THE HOSE.'

the end of the matter was drawing near. But he exulted too soon.
The First Lord of the Bedchamber received the hose and was about to
incase Tom's legs in them, when a sudden flush invaded his face and
he hurriedly hustled the things back into the hands of the Archbishop
of Canterbury with an astounded look and a whispered, '"• See, my
lord ! " — pointing to a something connected with the hose. The
Archbishop paled, then flushed, and passed the hose to the Lord High
Admiral, Avhispering, " See, my lord ! " The Admiral passed the hose
to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, and had hardly breath enough in

"ii? BOI EST MOET — VIVE LE ROV 165

his body to ejaculate, " See, my lord ! " The hose drifted backward
along the line, to the Chief Steward of the Household, the Constable
of the Tower, Norroy King-at-Arms, the Master of the Wardrobe, the
Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Third Groom of the
Stole, the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, the Second Gentleman of
the Bedchamber, tlie First Lord of the Buckhounds, — accompanied
always with that amazed and frightened "See! see!" — till they
finally reached the hands of the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who gazed
a moment, with a pallid face, upon what had caused all this dismay,
then hoarsely whispered, " Body of my life, a tag gone from a truss-
point ! — to the Tower with the Head Keeper of the King's Hose ! " —
after which lie leaned upon the shoulder of the First Lord of the
Buckhounds to regather his vanished strength whilst fresh hose, with-
out any damaged strings to them, were brought.

But all things must have an end, and so in time Tom Canty was in
a condition to get out of bed. The proper official poured water, the
proper official engineered the washing, the proper official stood by with
a towel, and by and by Tom got safely through the purifying stage
and was ready for the services of the Hairdresser-royal. When he at
length emerged from this master's hands, he was a gracious figure and
as pretty as a girl, in his mantle and trunks of purple satin, and
purple-plumed cap. He now moved in state toward his breakfast
room, through the midst of the courtly assemblage ; and as he passed,
these fell back, leaving his way free, and dropped upon their knees.

After breakfast he was conducted, with regal ceremony, attended
by his great officers and his guard of fifty Gentlemen Pensioners bear-
ing gilt battle-axes, to the throne-room, where he proceeded to transact
business of state. His "uncle," lord Hertford, took his stand by the
throne, to assist the royal mind with wise counsel.

The body of illustrious men named by the late king as his execu-
tors, appeared, to ask Tom's approval of certain acts of theirs — rather

166

•LE ROI EST MOBT — VIVE LE ROI.''

a form, and yet not wholly a form, since there was no Protector as yet.
The Archbishop of Canterbury made report of the decree of the
Council of Executors concerning the obsequies of his late most illus-
trious majesty, and finished by reading the signatures of the Execu-
tors, to-wit: the Archbishop of Canterbury; the Lord Chancellor of

A SECKETAKY OF STATE PKESENTED AN ORDEB.

England ; William Lord St. John ; John Lord Russell ; Edward Earl
of Hertford; John Viscount Lisle ; Cuthbert Bishop of Durham —

Tom was not listening — an earlier clause of the document was puz-
zling him. At this point he turned and whispered to lord Hertford —

" What day did he say the burial hath been appointed for ? "

''LE ROI EST MORT — VIVE LE EOI.'' 167

" The 16th of the coming month, my liege."

" 'Tis a strange folly. Will he keep? "

Poor chap, he was still new to the customs of royalty ; he was used
to seeing the forlorn dead of Offal Court hustled out of the way with
a very different sort of expedition. However, the lord Hertford set
his mind at rest with a word or two.

A secretary of state presented an order of the Council appointing
the morrow at eleven for the reception of the foreign ambassadors, and
desired the king's assent.

Tom turned an inquiring look toward Hertford, who whispered —

" Your majesty will signify consent. They come to testify their
royal masters' sense of the heavy calamity wliicli hath visited your
grace and the realm of England."

Tom did as he was bidden. Another secretary began to read a
preamble concerning the expenses of the late king's household, which
had amounted to .£28,000 during the preceding six months — a sum so
vast that it made Tom Canty gasp ; he gasped again when the fact
appeared that X 20,000 of this money were still owing and unpaid ;i
and once more when it appeared that the king's coffers were about
empty, and his twelve hundred servants much embarrassed for lack of
the wages due them, Tom spoke out, with lively apprehension —

" We be going to the dogs, 'tis plain. 'Tis meet and necessary that
we take a smaller house and set the servants at large, sith they be of no
value but to make delay, and trouble one with offices that harass the
spirit and shame the soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath
nor brains nor hands to help itself withal. I remember me of a small
house that standeth over against the fish-market, by Billingsgate " —

A sharp pressure upon Tom's arm stopped his foolish tongue and
sent a blush to his face ; but no countenance there betrayed any sign
that this strange speech had been remarked or given concern.

1 Huinfi.

168 ''LE ROI EST MORT — VIVE LE BOV

A secretary made report that forasmuch as the late king had pro-
vided in his will for conferring the ducal degree upon the earl of
Hertford and raising his brother, Sir Thomas Seymour, to the peerage,
and likewise Hertford's son to an earldom, together with similar
aggrandizements to other great servants of the crown, the Council had
resolved to hold a sitting on the 16th of February for the delivering
and confirming of these honors ; and that meantime, the late king not
having granted, in writing, estates suitable to the support of these
dignities, the Council, knowing his private wishes in that regard, had
thought proper to grant to Seymour " £500 lands," and to Hertford's
son " 800 pound lands, and 300 pound of the next bishop's lands
which should fall vacant," — Ids present majesty being willing.^

Tom was about to blurt out something about the propriety of pay-
ing the late King's debts first, before squandering all this money ; but
a timely touch upon his arm, from the thoughtful Hertford, saved him
this indiscretion ; wherefore he gave the royal assent, without spoken
comment, but with much inward discomfort. While he sat reflecting,
a moment, over the ease with which he was doing strange and glitter-
ing miracles, a happy thought shot into his mind : why not make his
mother Duchess of Offal Court and give her an estate ? But a sorrow-
ful thought swept it instantl}^ away : he was only a king in name,
these grave veterans and great nobles were his masters ; to them his
mother was only the creature of a diseased mind ; they would simply
listen to his project with unbelieving ears, then send for the doctor.

The dull work went tediously on. Petitions were read, and proc-
lamations, patents, and all manner of wordy, repetitious and wearisome
papers relating to the public business ; and at last Tom sighed jDatheti-
cally and murmured to himself, " In what have I offended, that the
good God should take me away from the fields and the free air and the
sunshine, to shut me up here and make me a king and afflict me so ? "

1 Hume.

''LE BOI EST MORT — VIVE LE BOL" 169

Then his poor muddled head nodded a while, and presently drooped
to his shoulder ; and the business of the empire came to a stand-still
for want of that august factor, the ratifying power. Silence ensued,
around the slumbering child, and the sages of the realm ceased from
their deliberations.

During the forenoon, Tom had an enjoyable hour, by permission of
his keepers, Hertford and St. John, with the lady Elizabeth and the
little lady Jane Grey ; though the spirits of the princesses were rather
subdued by the mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house ;
and at the end of the visit his " elder sister '" — afterwards the " Bloody-
Mary " of history — chilled him with a solemn interview which had
but one merit in his eyes, its brevity. He had a few moments to him-
self, and then a slim lad of about twelve years of age was admitted to
his presence, whose clothing, except his snowy ruff and the laces about
his wrists, was of black, — doublet, hose and all. He bore no badge of
mourning but a knot of purple ribbon on his shoulder. He advanced
hesitatingly, with head bowed and bare, and dropped upon one knee in
front of Tom. Tom sat still and contemplated him soberly a moment.
Then he said —

" Rise, lad. Who art thou ? What wouldst have ? "

The boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an aspect of
concern in his face. He said —

" Of a surety thou must remember me, my lord. I am thy whip-
ping-boy."

" My ivhipping-hoj ? "

" The same, your grace. I am Humphrey — Humphrey Marlow."

Tom perceived that here was some one whom his keepers ought to
have posted him about. The situation was delicate. What should
he do ? — pretend he knew this lad, and then betray by his every
utterance, that he had never heard of him before? No, that would
not do. An idea came to hi« relief: accidents like this might be likely

170

LE ROI EST MOBT — VIVE LE liOV

to happen with some frequency, now that business urgencies would
often call Hertford and St. John from his side, they being members of
the council of executors ; therefore perhaps it would be well to strike
out a plan himself to meet the requirements of such emergencies.
Yes, that would be a wise course — he would practise on this boy, and

THE BOY ROSE, AND STOOD AT GKACEFUL EASE.

see what sort of success he might achieve. So he stroked his brow,
perplexedly, a moment or two, and presently said —

" Now I seem to remember thee somewhat — but my wit is clogged
and dim with sufferins: " —

" Alack, my poor master ! " ejaculated the whipping-boy, with feel-
ing ; adding, to himself, " In truth 'tis as they said — his mind is gone
— alas, poor soul! But misfortune catch me, how am I forgetting!

''LE EOI EST MORT — VIVE LE ROI.'' 171

they said one must not seem to observe that aught is wrong with
him."

"• 'Tis strange how my memory cloth wanton with me these days,"
said Tom. " But mind it not — I mend apace — a little clew doth
oiten serve to bring me back again the things and names which had
escaped me. [And not they, only, forsooth, but e'en such as I ne'er
heard before — as this lad shall see.] Give thy business speech."

" 'Tis matter of small weight, my liege, yet will I touch upon it an'
it please your grace. Two days gone by, when your majesty faulted
thrice in your Greek — in the morning lessons, — dost remember it ? "

"Y-e-s — methinks I do. [It is not much of a lie — an' I had
meddled with the Greek at all, I had not faulted simply thrice, but
forty times.] Yes, I do recall it, now — go on."

— " The master, being wroth with what he termed such slovenly
and doltish work, did promise that he would soundly whip me for it —
and " —

" Whip thee ! " said Tom, astonished out of his presence of mind.
" Why should he whip thee for faults of mine ? "

" Ah, your grace forgetteth again. He always scourgeth me, when
thou dost fail in thy lessons."

" True, true — I had forgot. Thou teachest me in private — then
if I fail, he argueth that thy office was lamely done, and" —

" O, my liege, what words are these ? I, the liumblest of thy ser-
vants, presume to teach thee ? "

" Then where is thy blame ? What riddle is this ? Am I in truth
gone mad, or is it thou? Explain — speak out."

" But good your majesty, there's nought that needeth simplifying. —
None may visit the sacred person of" the prince of Wales with blows;
wherefore when he faulteth, 'tis I that take them ; and meet it is and
right, for that it is mine office and my livelihood." ^

1 See Note 8, at end of volume.

172

LE ROI EST MORT

VIVE LE BOir

Tom stared at the tranquil boy, observing to himself, " Lo, it is a
wonderful thing, — a most strange and curious trade; I marvel -they
have not hired a boy to take my combings and my dressings for me —
would heaven they would ! — an" they will do this thing, I will take
my lashings in mine own person, giving God thanks for the change."
Then he said aloud —

"And hast thou been beaten, poor friend, according to the
promise ? "

" No, good your majesty, my punishment was appointed for this
day, and peradventure it may be annulled, as unbefit-
ting the season of mourning that is come upon
us : I know not, and so have made bold to
come hither and remind your grace about your
gracious promise to intercede in my be-
half"—

" With the master ? To save
thee thy whipping ? "

" Ah, thou dost remember I "
" My memory mendeth, thou
seest. Set thy mind at ease — thy
back shall go unscathed — I will see
to it."

" O, thanks, my good lord ! "
cried the boy, dropping upon his
knee again. " Mayhap I have
ventured far enow ; and yet "...

Seeing Master Humphrey hesitate, Tom encouraged him to go on,
saying he was " in the granting niood."

" Then will I speak it out, for it lieth near my heart. Sith thou
art no more prince of Wales but King, thou canst order matters as
thou wilt, with none to say thee nay ; wherefore it is not in reason

'TIS I THAT TAKE THEM.

"LE BOI EST MOET — VIVE LE BOL" 173

that thou wilt longer vex thyself with dreary studies, but wilt burn
thy books and turn thy mind to things less irksome. Then am I
ruined, and mine orphan sisters with me ! "

" Ruined ? Prithee how ? "

" My back is my bread, O my gracious liege ! if it go idle, I starve.
An' thou cease from study, mine office is gone, thou'lt need no whip-
ping-boy. Do not turn me away ! "

Tom was touched with this pathetic distress. He said, with u right
royal burst of generosity —

" Discomfort thyself no further, lad. Thine office shall be perma-
nent in thee and thy line, forever." Then he struck the boy a light
blow on the shoulder with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, " Rise,
Humphrey Marlow, Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the royal
house of England ! Banish sorrow — I will betake me to my books
again, and study so ill that they must in justice treble thy wage, so
mightily shall the business of thine office be augmented."

The grateful Humphrey responded fervidly —

" Thanks, O most noble master, this princely lavishness doth far
surpass my most distempered dreams of fortune. Now shall I be
happy all my days, and all the house of Marlow after me."

Tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who could be
useful to him. He encouraged Humphrey to talk, and he was nothing
loath. He was delighted to believe that he was helping in Tom's
*' cure ; " for always, as soon as he had finished calling back to Tom's
diseased mind the various particulars of his experiences and adven-
tures in the royal school-room and elsewhere about the palace, he
noticed that Tom was then able to " recall " the circumstances quite
clearly. At the end of an hour Tom found himself well freighted with
very valuable information concerning personages and matters pertain-
ing to the Court ; so he resolved to draw instruction from this source
daily ; and to this end he would give order to admit Humphrey to the

174 "LE ROI JEST MOET — VIVE LE BOI."

royal closet whenever he might corae, provided the majesty of England
was not engaged with other people. Humphrey had hardly been dis-
missed when my lord Hertford arrived with more trouble for Tom.

He said that the lords of the Council, fearing that some over-
wrought report of the king's damaged health might have leaked out
and got abroad, they deemed it wise and best that his majesty should
begin to dine in public after a day or two — his wholesome complexion
and vigorous step, assisted by a carefully guarded repose of manner
and ease and grace of demeanor, Avould more surely quiet the general
pulse — in case any evil rumors had gone about — than any other
scheme that could be devised.

Then the earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct Tom as to the
observances proper to the stately occasion, under the rather thin dis-
guise of " reminding " him concerning things already known to him ;
but to his vast gratification it turned out that Tom needed very little
help in this line — he had been making use of Humphrey in that direc-
tion, for Humphrey had mentioned that within a few days he was to
begin to dine in public ; having gathered it from the swift- winged
gossip of the Court. Tom kept these facts to himself, however.

Seeing the royal memory so improved, the earl ventured to apply
a few tests to it, in an apparently casual way, to find out how far its
amendment had progressed. The results Avere happy, here and there,
in spots — spots where Humphrey's tracks remained — and on the
whole my lord was greatly pleased and encouraged. So encouraged
was he, indeed, that he spoke up and said in a quite hopeful voice —

" Now am I persuaded that if your majesty will but tax your
memory yet a little further, it will resolve the puzzle of the Great Seal
— a loss which was of moment yesterday, although of none to-day,
since its term of service ended with our late lord's life. May it please
your grace to make the trial?"

Tom was at sea — a Great Seal was a something which he was

•LE EOI EST MORT — VIVE LE BOI."

175

totally unacquainted with. After a moment's hesitation he looked up
innocently and asked —

" What was it like, my lord ? "

The earl started, almost imperceptibly, muttering to himself,

i-i=->:J:\^L,><r;;^

f'^f^^gfiiiplp^i

•IF YOUK MAJESTY WILL, BUT TAX YOUB MEMORY.

" Alack, his wits are flown again ! — it was ill wisdom to lead him on
to strain them ". — then he deftly turned the talk to other matters, with
the purpose of sweeping the unlucky Seal out of Tom's thoughts — a
purpose which easily succeeded.

^n-n.T^:^-^^lM^^.■l.^.T■.^^l.w-.,■■.>v^..^.■>l.v:>,vvlJJ.^■V<.^■l,vvv^Ol;^J

CHAPTER XV.

TOM AS KING.

The next day the foreign ambassadors came, with their gorgeous
trains ; and Tom, throned in awful state, received them. The splen-
dors of the scene delighted his eye and fired his imagination, at first,
but the audience was long and drearjs and so were most of the
addresses — wherefore, what began as a pleasure, grew into weariness
and homesickness by and by. Tom said the words which Hertford put
into his mouth from time to time, and tried hard to acquit himself
satisfactorily, but he was too new to such things, and too ill at ease to
accomplish more than a tolerable success. He looked sufficiently like
a king, but he was ill able to feel like one. He was cordially glad
when the ceremony was ended.

The larger part of his day was " wasted " — as he termed it, in his
own mind — in labors pertaining to his royal office. Even the two
hours devoted to certain princely pastimes and recreations were rather
a burden to him, than otherwise, they were so fettered by restrictions
and ceremonious observances. However he had a private hour with
his whipping-boy which he counted clear gain, since he got both enter-
tainment and needful information out of it.

T]ie third day of Tom Canty's Kingship came and went much as
the others had done, but there was a lifting of his cloud in one way —
he felt less uncomfortable than at first ; he was getting a little used to
his circumstances and surroundings ; his chains still galled, but not all

179

180 TOM AS KING.

the time ; he found that the presence and homage of the great afflicted
and embarrassed him less and less sharply with every hour that drifted
over his head.

But for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth day ap-
proach without serious distress — the dining in public ; it was to begin
that day. There were greater matters in the programme — for on that
day he would have to preside at a Council which would take his views
and commands concerning the policy to be pursued toward various for-
eign nations scattered far and near over the great globe ; on that day,
too, Hertford would be formally chosen to the grand office of Lord
Protector ; other things of note were appointed for that fourth day,
also ; but to Tom they were all insignificant compared with the ordeal
of dining all by himself with a multitude of curious eyes fastened upon
him and a multitude of mouths whispering comments upon his per-
formance, — and upon his mistakes, if he should be so unlucky as to
make any.

Still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it came. It found
poor Tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and this mood continued ;
he could not shake it off. The ordinary duties of the morning dragged
upon his hands, and wearied him. Once more he felt the sense of
captivity heavy upon him.

Late in the forenoon he was in a large audience chamber, convers-
ing with the earl of Hertford and dully awaiting the striking of the
hour appointed for a visit of ceremony from a considerable number
of great officials and courtiers.

After a little while, Tom, who had wandered to a window and
become interested in the life and movement of the great highway
beyond the palace gates — and not idly interested, but longing with
all his heart to take part in person in its stir and freedom — saw the
van of a hooting and shouting mob of disorderly men, women and
children of the lowest and poorest degree approaching from up the
road.

TOM AS KING.

181

" I would I knew what 'tis about ! " he exclaimed, with all a boy's
curiosity in such happenings.

" Thou art the king ! " solemnly responded the earl, with a rever-
ence. " Have I your grace's leave to act ? "

" O blithely, yes ! O gladly 3^es ! " exclaimed Tom, excitedly, add-
ing to himself with a lively sense
of satisfaction, "• In truth, being a
king is not all dreariness — it
hath its compensations and con-
veniences."

The earl called a page, and
sent him to the captain of the
guard with the order —

" Let the mob be halted, and
inquiry made concerning the occa-
sion of its movement. By the
king's command ! "

A few seconds later a long rank of
the royal guards, cased in flashing steel,
filed out at the gates and formed across
the highway in front of the multitude.
A messenger returned, to report that
the crowd were following a man, a
woman, and a young girl to execution
for crimes committed against the peace
and dignity of the realm.

Death — and a violent death — for
these poor unfortunates I The thought wrung Tom's heart-strings.
The spirit of compassion took control of him, to the exclusion of all
other considerations ; he never thought of the offended laws, or of the
grief or loss which these three criminals had inflicted upon their victims,

■ TOM HAD WANDEKEU TO A
WINDOW."

182 TOM AS KING.

lie could think of nothing but the scaffold and the grisly fate hanging
over the heads of the condemned. His concern made him even forget,
for the moment, that he was but the false shadow of a king, not the
substance ; and before he knew it he had blurted out the command —

" Bring them here ! "

Then he blushed scarlet, and a sort of apology sprung to his lips :
but observing that his order had wrought no sort of surprise in the
earl or the waiting page, he suppressed the words he was about to
utter. The itSige, in the most matter-of-course way, made a profound
obeisance and retired backwards out of the room to deliver the com-
mand. Tom experienced a glow of pride and a renewed sense of the
compensating advantages of the kingly office. He said to himself,
" Truly it is like what I was used to feel when I read the old priest's
tales, and did imagine mine own self a prince, giving law and com-
mand to all, saying ' Do this, do that,' whilst none durst offer let or
hindrance to my will."

Now the doors swung open ; one high-sounding title after another
was announced, the personages owning them followed, and the place
was quickly half filled with noble folk and finery. But Tom was
hardly conscious of the presence of these people, so wrought up was
he and so intensely absorbed in that other and more interesting matter.
He seated himself, absently, in his chair of state, and turned his eyes
upon the door with manifestations of impatient expectancy ; seeing
which, the company forebore to trouble him, and fell to chatting a
mixture of public business and court gossip one with another.

In a little while the measured tread of military men was heard
approaching, and the culprits entered the presence in charge of an
under-sheriff and escorted by a detail of the king's guard. The civil
officer knelt before Tom, then stood aside ; the three doomed persons
knelt, also, and remained so ; the guard took position behind Tom's
chair. Tom scanned the -prisoners curiously. Something about the

TOM AS KING.

183

dress or appearance of the man had stirred a vague memory in him.
" Methinks I have seen this man ere now . . . but the when or the
where fail me "' — such was Tom's thought. Just then the man
glanced quickly up, and quickly dropped his
face again, not being able to endure t
awful port of sovereignty ; but the one
full glimpse of the face, which Tom
got, was sufficient. He said to him-
self: "Now is the matter clear ; this
is the stranger that plucked Giles
Witt out of the Thames, and
saved his life, that windy,
bitter, first day of the New
Year — a brave good deed —
pity he hath been doing baser

TOM SCANNED THE PRISONERS.

ones and got himself in this sad
case. ... I have not forgot the day, neither the hour ; by reason that
an hour after, upon the stroke of eleven, I did get a hiding by the
hand of Gammer Canty which was of so goodly and admired severity
that all that went before or followed after it were but fondlings and
caresses by comparison."

184 TOM AS KING.

Tom now ordered that the woman and the girl be removed from
the presence for a little time ; then addressed himself to the under-
sheriff, saying —

" Good sir, what is this man's offence ? "

The officer knelt, and answered —

"So please your majesty, he hath taken the life of a subject by
poison."

Tom's compassion for the prisoner, and admiration of him as the
daring rescuer of a drowning boy, experienced a most damaging shock.

" The thing was proven upon him ? " he asked.

" Most clearly, sire."

Tom sighed, and said —

"Take him away — he hath earned his death. 'Tis a pity, for he
was a brave heart — na — na, I mean he hath the look of it I "

The prisoner clasped his hands together with sudden energy, and
wrung them despairingly, at the same time appealing imploringly to
the " king " in broken and terrified phrases —

" O my lord the king, an' thou canst pity the lost, have pity upon
me ! I am innocent — neither hath that wherewith I am charged
been more than but lamely proved — yet I speak not of that; the
judgment is gone forth against me and may not suffer alteration ; 3^et
in mine extremity I beg a boon, for my doom is more than I can bear.
A grace, a grace, my lord the king ! in thy royal compassion grant my
prayer — give commandment that I be hanged ! "

Tom was amazed. This was nut the outcome he had looked for.

"Odds my life, a strange boon! Was it not the fate intended
thee y '■•

" O good my liege, not so ! It is ordered that I be boiled alive ! "

The hideous surprise of these words almost made Tom spring from
his chair. As soon as he could recover his wits he cried out —

" Have thy wish, poor soul ! an' thou had poisoned a hundred men
thou shouldst not suffer so miserable a death."'

TOM AS KING. 185

The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst into passion-
ate expressions of gratitude — ending with —

" If ever thou shouldst know misfortune — which God forefend I —
may thy goodness to me this day be remembered and requited ! "

Tom turned to the earl of Hertford, and said —

" My lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this man's
ferocious doom ? '*

" It is the law, your grace — for poisoners. In Germany coiners
be boiled to death in oil — not cast in of a sudden, but by a rope let
down into the oil by degrees, and slowly ; first the feet, then the legs,
then " —

" O prithee no more, my lord, I cannot bear it ! " cried Tom, cover-
ing his eyes with his hands to shut out the picture. " I beseech your
good lordship that order be taken to change this law — O, let no more
poor creatures be visited with its tortures."

The earl's face showed profound gratification, for he was a man of
merciful and generous impulses — a thing not very common with his
class in that fierce age. He said —

"These your grace's noble words have sealed its doom. History
will remember it to the honor of your royal house."

The under-sheriff was about to remove his prisoner ; Tom gave him
a sign to wait ; then he said —

" Good sir, I would look into this matter further. The man has
said his deed was but lamely proved. Tell me what thou knowest."

" If the king's grace please, it did appear upon the trial, that this
man entered into a house in the hamlet of Islington where one lay
sick — three witnesses say it was at ten of the clock in the morning
and two say it was some minutes later — the sick man being alone at
the time, and sleeping — and presently the man came forth again, and
went his way. The sick man died within the hour, being torn with
spasms and retchings."

186 TOM AS KING.

" Did any see the poison given ? Was poison found ? "

" Many, no, my liege."

" Then how doth one know there was poison given at all? "

" Please your majesty, the doctors testified that none die with such
symptoms but b}^ poison."

Weighty evidence, this — in that simple age. Tom recognized its
formidable nature, and said —

" The doctor knoweth his trade — belike they were right. The
matter hath an ill look for this poor man."

" Yet was not this all, your majesty ; there is more and worse.
Many testified that a witch, since gone from the village, none know
whither, did foretell, and speak it privately in their ears, that the sick
man would die hy poison — and more, that a stranger would give it —
a stranger with brown hair and clothed in a worn and common garb ;
and surely this prisoner doth answer woundily to the bill. Please
your majesty to give the circumstance that solemn weight which is its
due, seeing it was foretold^

This was an argument of tremendous force, in that superstitious
day. Tom felt that the thing was settled ; if evidence was worth any
thing, this poor fellow's guilt was proved. Still he offered the prisoner
a chance, saying —

" If thou canst say aught in thy behalf, speak."

"Nought that will avail, my king. I am innocent, yet cannot I
make it appear. I have no friends, else might I show that I was not
in Islington that day ; so also might I show that at that hour they
name I was above a league away, seeing I was at Wapping Old Stairs ;
yea more, my King, for I could show, that whilst they say I was taking
life, I was saving it. A drowning boy " —

" Peace ! Sheriff, name the day the deed was done ! "

" At ten in the morning, or some minutes later, the first day of the
new year, most illustrious " —

TOM AS KING,

187

" Let the prisoner go free — it is the king's will !

Another blush followed this unregal outburst,
and he covered his indecorum as well as he could
by adding —

" It enrageth me that a man should be hanged
upon such idle, hare-brained evidence ! "

A low buzz of admiration swept through the
assemblage. It was not admiration of the decree
that had been delivered by Tom, for the propriety
or expediency of pardoning a convicted poisoner

was a thing which fe^ there would have felt justi-
fied in either admitting or admiring — no, the ad-
miration was for the intelligence and spirit which

188

TOM AS KING.

Tom had displayed. Some of the low-voiced remarks were to this
effect —

"This is no mad king — he hath his wits sound."'
"How sanely he put his questions — how like his former natural
self was this abrupt, imperious disposal of the matter ! "

" God be thanked his infirmity is spent ! This is no weakling, but
a king. He hath borne himself like to his own father."

The air being filled with applause, Tom's ear necessarily caught a
little of it. The effect which this had upon him was to put him
greatly at his ease, and also to charge his system with very gratifying
sensations.

However, his juvenile curiosity soon rose superior to these pleasant
thoughts and feelings ; he was eager to know what sort of deadly mis-
chief the woman and the little girl could have been about ; so, by his
command the two terrified and sobbing creatures were brought before
him.

" What is it that these have done ? " he inquired of the sheriff.

"Please your majesty, a black
crime is charged upon them, and
clearly proven ; wherefore the
judges have decreed, according to
the law, that they be hanged. They
sold themselves to the devil — such
is their crime."

Tom shuddered. He had been

taught to abhor j)eople who did

this wicked thing. Still, he was

not going to deny himself the

pleasure of feeding his curiosity, for all that; so he asked —

" Where was this done ? — and when ? "

" On a midnight, in December — in a ruined church, your majesty."
Tom shuddered again.

"what is it that these have done?"

TOM AS KING. 189

" Who was there present ? "

" Only these two, your grace — and that others

" Have these confessed ? "

" Nay, not so, sire — they do deny it."

" Then prithee, how was it known ? "

" Certain witnesses did see them wending thither, good your
majesty ; this bred the suspicion, and dire effects have since confirmed
and justified it. In particular, it is in evidence that through the
wicked power so obtained, they did invoke and bring about a storm
that wasted all the region round about. Above forty witnesses have
proved the storm ; and sooth one might have had a thousand, for all
had reason to remember it, sith all had suffered by it."

" Certes this is a serious matter." Tom turned this dark piece of
scoundrelism over in his mind a while, then asked —

" Suffered the woman, also, by the storm ? "

Several old heads among the assemblage nodded their recognition
of the wisdom of this question. The sheriff, however, saw nothing
consequential in the inquiry ; he answered, with simple directness —

" Indeed, did she, your majesty, and most righteously, as all aver.
Her habitation was swept away, and herself and child left shelterless."

" Methinks the power to do herself so ill a turn was dearly bought.
She had been cheated, had she paid but a farthing for it; that she
paid her soul, and her child's, argueth that she is mad ; if she is mad
she knoweth not what she doth, therefore sinneth not."

The elderly heads iiodded recognition of Tom's wisdom once more,
and one individual murmured, " An' the king be mad himself, accord-
ing to report, then is it a madness of a sort that would improve the
sanity of some I wot of, if by the gentle providence of God they could
but catch it."

"What age hath the child?" asked Tom.

" Nine years, please your majesty."

190

TOM AS KINO

" By the law of England may a child enter into covenant and sell
itself, my lord ? " asked Tom, turning to a learned judge.

" The law doth not permit a child to make or meddle in any
weighty matter, good my liege, holding that its callow wit unfittetii it
to cope with the riper wit and evil schemings of them that are its
elders. The devil may buy a child, if he so choose, and the child agree
thereto, but not an Englishman — in this latter case the contract would
be null and void."

"It seemeth a rude unchristian thing, and ill contrived, that

"SEVEKAL OLD HEADS NODDED THEIR RECOGNITION.

English law denieth privileges to Englishmen, to waste them on the
devil ! " cried Tom, with honest heat.

This novel view of the matter excited many smiles, and was stored
away in many heads to be repeated about the court as evidence of
Tom's originality as well as progress toward mental health.

The elder culprit had ceased from sobbing, and was hanging upon
Tom's words with an excited interest and a growing hope. Tom
noticed this, and it strongly inclined his sympathies toward her in her
perilous and unfriended situation. Presently he asked —

TOM AS KING. 191

" How wrought tliey, to bring the storm ? "

'■^ By pulling off their stockings, sire."

This astonished Tom, and also fired his curiosity to fever heat. He
said, eagerly —

" It is wonderful ! Hath it always this dread effect ?

" Always, my liege — at least if the woman desire it, and utter the
needful words, either in her mind or with her tongue."

Tom turned to the woman, and said with impetuous zeal —

" Exert thy power — I would see a storm ! "

There was a sudden paling of cheeks in the superstitious assem-
.blage, and a general, though unexpressed, desire to get out of the place

— all of which was lost upon Tom, who was dead to every thing but
the proposed cataclysm. Seeing a puzzled and astonished look in the
woman's face, he added, excitedly —

" Never fear — thou shalt be blameless. More — thou shalt go free

— none shall touch thee. Exert thy power."

" O, my lord the king, I have it not — I have been falsely accused."

" Thy fears stay thee. Be of good heart, thou shalt suffer no harm.
Make a storm — it mattereth not how small a one — I require nought
great or harmful, but indeed prefer the opposite — do this and thy life
is spared — thou shalt go out free, with thy child, bearing the king's
pardon, and safe from hurt or malice from any in the realm."

The woman prostrated herself, and protested, with tears, that she
had no power to do the miracle, else she would gladly win her child's
life, alone, and be content to lose her ov/n, if by obedience to the king's
command so precious a grace might be acquired.

Tom urged — the woman still adhered to her declarations. Finally
he said —

" I think the woman hath said true. An' my mother were in her
place and gifted with the devil's functions, she had not stayed a
moment to call her storms and lay the whole land in ruins, if the

192 TOM AS KING.

saving of my forfeit life were the price she got ! It is argument that
other mothers are made in like mould. Thou art free, goodwife —
thou and thy child — for I do think thee innocent. JVow thou'st
nought to fear, being pardoned — pull off thy stockings ! — an' thou
canst make me a storm, thou shalt be rich ! "

The redeemed creature was loud in her gratitude, and proceeded to
obey, whilst Tom looked on with eager expectancy, a little marred by
apprehension ; the courtiers at the same time manifesting decided dis-
comfort and uneasiness. The woman stripped her own feet and her
little girl's also, and plainly did her best to reward the king's gener-
osity with an earthquake, but it was all a failure and a disappointment.
Tom sighed, and said —

" There, good soul, trouble thyself no further, thy power is de-
parted out of thee. Go thy way in peace ; and if it return to thee at
any time, forget me not, but fetch me a storm." ^

1 See Notes to Chapter xv at the end of the volume.

CHAPTER XVI,

THE STATE DINNER.

The dinner hour drew near — yet strangely enough, the thought
brought but slight discomfort to Tom, and hardly any terror. The
morning's experiences had wonderfully built up his confidence ; the
poor little ash-cat was already more wonted to his strange garret, after
four days' habit, than a mature person could have become in a full
month. A child's facility in accommodating itself to circumstances
was never more strikingly illustrated.

Let us privileged ones hurry to the great banqueting room and
have a glance at matters there whilst Tom is being made ready for
the imposing occasion. It is a spacious apartment, with gilded pillars
and pilasters, and pictured walls and ceilings. At the door stand tall
guards, as rigid as statues, dressed in rich and picturesque costumes,
and bearing halberds. In a high gallery which runs all around the
place is a band of musicians and a packed company of citizens of both
sexes, in brilliant attire. In the centre of the room, upon a raised
platform, is Tom's table. Now let the ancient chronicler speak :

" A gentleman enters the room bearing a rod, and along with him
another bearing a table-cloth, which, after they have both kneeled
three times with the utmost veneration, he spreads upon the table,
and after kneeling again they both retire ; then come two others, one
with the rod again, the other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread;
when they have kneeled as the others had done, and placed what was

195

196

THE STATE DINNER.

brought upon the table, they too retire with the same ceremonies per-
formed by the first ; at hist come two nobles, richly clothed, one bear-
ing a tasting-knife, who, after prostrating themselves three times in
the most graceful manner, approach and rub the table with bread and
salt, Avith as much awe as if the king had been present." ^

So end the solemn preliminaries. Now, far down the echoing cor-
ridors we hear a
bugle-blast, and the
indistinct cry, " Place
for the king ! way for
the king's most ex-
cellent majesty!"
These sounds are mo-
mently repeated —
they grow nearer and
nearer — and present-
ly, almost in our faces,
the martial note peals
and the cry rings out,
'' Way for the king ! "
At this instant the
shining pageant ap-
pears, and files in at
the door, with a
measured march. Let
the chronicler speak
again :
" First come Gentlemen, Barons, Earls, Knights of the Garter, all
richly dressed and bareheaded ; next comes the Chancellor, between
two, one of which carries the royal sceptre, the other the Sword of

1 Leigh Hunt's " The Town," p. 408, quotation from an early tourist.

THE STATE DINNER.

197

State in a red scabbard, studded with golden fleurs-de-lis, the
upwards ; next comes the King himself — whom,
upon his appearing, twelve trumpets and many drums
salute with a great burst of welcome, whilst all
in the galleries rise in their places, crying
"God save the Kiug!" After him come nobles
attached to his person, and on his right and
left march his guard of honor, his fifty Gen-
tlemen Pensioners, with gilt battle-axes."

This was all fine and pleasant. Tom's pnlse
beat high and a glad light
was in his eye. He bore
himself right gracefully,
and all the more so
because he was not

point

thinking of how he

was

doing

'the chancellor

mind being charmed /'f;!^PP'|Ji^W;^'Wfii 1 i^A '^nc^ occupied with
the blithe sights and '^'' \ f /^W'-'^ym''^ sounds about him

— and besides, no- ' "^ '-'' body can be very

ungraceful in nicely-fitting beautiful clothes after he has grown a little
used to them — especially if he is for the moment unconscious of them.

198

THE STATE DINNER.

Tom remembered his instructions, and acknowledged his greeting
with a slight inclination of his plumed head, and a courteous " I thank
ye, my good people."

He seated himself at table, without removing his cap ; and did it
without the least embarrassment ; for to eat with one's cap on was the
one solitary royal custom upon which the kings and the Cantys met
upon common ground, neither party having any advantage over the

other in the matter of old fa-

m^^-s,,^^

miliarity with it. Tlie pageant
broke up and grouped itself
picturesquely, and remained
bareheaded.

Now, to the sound of gay
music, the Yeomen of the Guard
entered, — " the tallest and
mightiest men in England, they
being carefully selected in this
regard " -^— but we will let the
chronicler tell about it :

" The Yeoman of the Guard
entered, bare-headed, clothed in
scarlet, with golden roses upon
their backs ; and these went and came, bringing in each turn a course
of dishes, served in plate. These dishes Avere received by a gentleman
in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the table, while
the taster gave to each guard a mouthful to eat of the particular
dish he had brought, for fear of any poison."

Tom made a good dinner, notwithstanding he was conscious that
hundreds of eyes followed each morsel to his mouth and watched him
eat it with an interest which could not have been more intense if it
had been a deadly explosive and was expected to blow him up and

I THANK YE, MY GOOD PEOPLE."

THE STATE DINNER.

199

scatter him all about the place. He was careful not to hurry, and
equally careful not to do any thing whatever for himself, but wait till
the proper official knelt down and did it for him. He got through
without a mistake — flawless and precious triumph.

HE MARCHED AWAY IN THE MIDST OF HIS PAGEANT.

When the meal was over at last and he marched away in the midst
of his bright pageant, with the happy noises in his ears of blaring
bugles, rolling drums and thundering acclamations, he felt that if he
had seen the worst of dining in public, it was an ordeal which he
would be glad to endure several times a day if by that means he could
but buy himself free from some of the more formidable requirements
of his royal office.

Fpg :Foo|tgeFi^

^'^^^siiiP^

CHAPTER XVII.

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

Miles Hendon hurried along toward the Southwark end of the
bridge, keeping a sharp lookout for the persons he sought, and hoping
and expecting to overtake them presently. He was disappointed in
this, however. By asking questions, he was enabled to track them
part of the way through Southwark ; then all traces ceased, and he
was perplexed as to how to proceed. Still, he continued his efforts as
best he could during the rest of the day. Nightfall found him leg-
weary, half famished, and his desire as far from accomplishment as
ever ; so he supped at the Tabard inn and went to bed, resolved to
make an early start in the morning, and give the town an exhaustive
search. As he lay thinking and planning, he presently began to reason
thus : The boy would escape from the ruffian, his reputed father, if
possible ; would he go back to London and seek his former haunts ?
no, he would not do that, he would avoid recapture. What, then,
would he do ? Never having had a friend in the world, or a protector,
until he met Miles Hendon, he would naturally try to find that friend
again, provided the effort did not require him to go toward London
and danger. He would strike for Hendon Hall, that is what he would
do, for he knew Hendon was homeward bound and there he might
expect to find him. Yes, the case was plain to Hendon — he must lose
no more time in Southwark, but move at once through Kent, toward

203

204 FOO-FOO THE FIBST.

Monk's Holm, searching the wood and inquiring as he went. Let us
return to the vanished little king, now.

The ruffian whom the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw " about
to join " the youth and the king, did not exactly join them, but fell in
close behind them and followed their steps. He said nothing. His
left arm was in a sling, and he wore a large green patch over his left
eye ; he limped slightly, and used an oaken staff as a support. The
youth led the king a crooked course through Southwark, and by and
by struck into the high road beyond. The king was irritated, now,
and said he would stop here — it was Hendon's place to come to him,
not his to go to Hendon. He would not endure such insolence ; he
would stop where he was. The youth said —

" Thou'lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the wood
yonder? So be it, then."

The king's manner changed at once. He cried out —

" Wounded ? And who hath dared to do it ? But that is apart ;
lead on, lead on ! Faster, sirrah ! art shod with lead ? Wounded,
is he ? Now though the doer of it be a duke's son, he shall rue
it!"

It was some distance to the wood, but the space was speedily trav-
ersed. The youth looked about him, discovered a bough sticking in
the ground, with a small bit of rag tied to it, then led the way into
the forest, watching for similar boughs and finding them at intervals :
they were evidently guides to the point he was aiming at. By and by
an open place was reached, where were the charred remains of a farm
house, and near them a barn which was falling to ruin and decay.
There was no sign of life anywhere, and utter silence prevailed.. The
youth entered the barn, the king following eagerly upon his heels.
No one there ! The king shot a surprised and suspicious glance at the
youth, and asked —

" Where is he ? "

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

206

A mocking laugh was his answer. The king was in a rage in a
moment ; he seized a billet of wood and was in the act of charging
upon the youth when another mocking laugh fell upon his ear. It was
from the lame ruffian, who had been following at a distance. The
king turned and said angrily —

"Who art thou? What is
tliy business here ? "

" Leave thy foolery,'" said
the man, "-and quiet thyself.
My disguise is none so good
that \,hou canst pretend thou
knowest not thy father through
it.''

"• Thou art not my father.
I know thee not. I am the
king. If thou hast hid my
servant, find him for me, or
thou shalt sup sorrow for what
thou hast done."

John Canty replied, in a stern and meas-
ured voice —

" It is plain thou art mad, and I am
loath to punish thee ; but if thou provoke
me, I must. Thy prating doth no harm
here, where there are no ears that need to
mind thy follies, yet is it well to practise "the kuffian followed

, "^ 11-1 THEIR STEPS."

thy tongue to wary speech, that it may do

no hurt when our quarters change. I have done a murder, and may
not tarry at home — neither shalt thou, seeing I need thy service.
My name is changed, for wise reasons ; it is Hobbs — John Hobbs :
thine is Jack — charge thy memory accordingly. Now, then, speak.

206

FOO-FOO THE FIEST.

Where is thy mother ? where are thy sisters ? They came not to the
place appointed — knowest thou whither they went?"

The king answered, sullenly —

" Trouble me not with these riddles. My mother is dead ; my
sisters are in the palace."

HE SEIZED A lilLLET OF WOOI>.

The youth hear by burst into a derisive laugh, and the king would
have assaulted him, but Canty — or Hobbs, as he now called himself —
prevented him, and said —

" Peace, Hugo, vex him not ; his mind is astray, and thy ways fret

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

207

him. Sit thee down, Jack, and quiet thyself; thou shalt have a morsel
to eat, anon."

Hobbs and Hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, and the
king removed himself as far as he could from their disagreeable com-
pany. He withdrew into the twilight of the farther end of the barn,
where he found the earthen floor bedded a foot deep with straw. He
la}' down here, drew straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was

■ HE WAS SOON ABSOKBED IN THINKING.

soon absorbed in thinkings. He had many griefs, but the minor ones
were swept almost into forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss of
his father. To the rest of the world the name of Henry V^K. brought
a shiver, and suggested an ogre whose nostrils breathed destruction
and whose hand dealt scourgings and death ; but to this boy the name
brought only sensations of pleasure, the figure it invoked wore a coun-
tenance that' was all gentleness and affection. He called to mind a
long succession of loving joassages between his father and himself, and
dwelt fondly upon them, his unstinted tears attesting how deep and
real was the grief that possessed his heart. As the afternoon wasted

208

FOO-FOO THE FIB ST.

away, the lad, wearied with his troubles, sunk gradually into a tranquil
and healins^ slumber.

After a considerable time — he could not tell how long — his senses

struggled to a half-consciousness,
and as he lay with closed eyes
vaguely wondering where he was
and what had been happening, he
noted a murmur-
ous sound, the sul-
len beating of rain
upon the roof. A
snug sense of com-
fort stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment,
by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse laughter. It startled him
disagreeably, and he unmuffled his head to see whence this inter-
ruption proceeded. A grim and unsightly picture met his eye. A

•,?

' A GRIM AND UNSIGHTLY PICTURE.

FOO-FOO THE FIRST. 209

bright fire was burning in the middle of the floor, at the other
end of the barn; and around it, and lit weirdly up by the red glare,
lolled and sprawled the motliest company of tattered gutter-scum and
ruffians, of both sexes, he had ever read or dreamed of. There were
huge, stalwart men, brown with exposure, long-haired, and clothed in
fantastic rags ; there were middle-sized youths, of truculent counte-
nance, and similarly clad ; there were blind mendicants, with patched
or bandaged eyes ; crippled ones, with wooden legs and crutches ;
there was a villain-looking peddler with his pack ; a knife-grinder, a
tinker, and a barber-surgeon, with the implements of their trades ;
some of the females were hardly-grown girls, some were at prime, some
were old and wrinkled liags, and all were loud, brazen, foul-mouthed ;
and all soiled and slatternly ; there were three sore-faced babies ; there
were a couple of starveling curs, with strings about their necks, whose
office was to lead the blind.

The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, an orgy
was beginning , the can of liquor was passing from mouth to mouth.
A general cry broke forth —

"A song ! a song from the Bat and Dick Dot-and-go-One ! "
One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting aside
the patches that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the pathetic placard
which recited the cause of his calamity. Dot-and-go-One disencum-
bered himself of his timber leg and took his place, upon sound and
healthy limbs, beside his fellow-rascal; then they roared out. a rollick-
ing ditty, and were re-enforced by the whole crew, at the end of each
stanza, in a rousing chorus. By the time the last stanza was reached,
the half-drunken enthusiasm had risen to such a pitch, that everybody
joined in and sang it clear through from the beginning, producing a
volume of villanous sound that made the rafters quake. These were
the inspiring words :

210

FOO-FOO THE FIB ST.

" Bien Darkmans then, Bouse Mort and Ken,
The bien Coves bings awast,
On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine
For his long lib at last.

Bing'd out bien Morts and toure, and toure,
Bing out of the Rome vile bine,
And toure the Cove that cloy'd your duds,
Upon the Chates to trine." ^

Conversation followed ; not in the thieves' dialect of the song, for

that was only used in talk when
unfriendly ears might be listen-
ing. In the course of it it ap-
peared that "John Hobbs " was
not altogether a new recruit, but
had trained in the gang at some
former time. His later history
was called for, and when he said
he had "accidentally" killed a
man, considerable satisfaction was
expressed ; when he added that
the man was a priest, he was
roundly applauded, and had to
take a drink with everybody.
Old acquaintances welcomed him
joyously, and new ones were
proud to shake him by the hand.
He was asked why he had " tarried
away so many months." He an-
swered —

"London is better than the
''they koabed out a kollicking

jjiTTY." country, and safer these late

1 From " The English Rogue; " London, 1665.

FOO-FOO THE FIRST. 211

years, the laws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. An' I had
not had that accident, I had staid there. I had resolved to stay,
and never more venture country -wards — but the accident has ended
that."

He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. The
"Ruffler," or chief, answered —

"Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapperdogeons and
maunders, counting the dells and doxies and other morts.^ Most are
here, the rest are wandering eastward, along the winter lay. We
follow at dawn."

" I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. Where
may he be ? "

" Poor lad, his diet is brimstone, now, and over hot for a delicate
taste. He was ^killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer."

" I sorrow to hear that ; the Wen was a capable man, and brave."

" That was he, truly. Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, but absent
on the eastward tramp ; a fine lass, of nice ways and orderly conduct,
none ever seeing her drunk above four days in the seven."

"She was ever strict — I remember it well — a goodly wench and
worthy all commendation. Her mother was more free and less par-
ticular ; a troublesome and ugly tempered beldame, but furnished
with a wit above the common."

"We lost her through it. Her gift of palmistry and other sorts
of fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch's name and fame. The
law roasted her to death at a slow fire. It did touch me to a sort of
tenderness to see the gallant way she met her lot — cursing and revil-
ing all the crowd that gaped and gazed around her, whilst the flames
licked upward toward her face and catched her thin locks and crackled
about her old gray head — cursing them, said I ? — cursing them !

1 Canting terms for various liinds of thieves, beggars and vagabonds, and their female
companions.

212

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

why an' thou shoiildst live a thousand years thoud'st never hear so
masterful a cursing. Alack, her art died with her. There be base
and weakling imitations left, but no true blasphemy."

The Ruffler sighed ; the listeners sighed in sympathy ; a general
depression fell upon the company for a moment, for even hardened
outcasts like these are not wholly dead to sentiment, but
are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and affliction at

wide intervals and under peculiarly
favoring circumstances — as in cases
like to this, for instance, when ge-
nius and culture depart and leave
no heir. However, a deep drink all
round soon restored the spirits of
the mourners.

" Have any others of our friends
fared hardly ? " asked Hobbs.

" Some — yes. Particularly new
comers — such as small husband-
men turned shiftless and hungry
upon the world because their farms
were taken from them to be changed
to sheep ranges. They begged, and
were whipped at the cart's tail,
naked from the girdle up, till the
blood ran ; then set in the stocks
to be pelted; they begged again,
were whipped again, and deprived
of an ear ; they begged a third time — poor devils, what else could
they do? — and were branded on the cheek with a red hot iron,
then sold for slaves ; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged.
'Tis a brief tale, and quickly told. Others of us have fared less

WHILST THE FLAMES LICKED
UPWARDS."

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

213

hardly. Stand forth, Yokel, Burns, and Hodge — show your adorn-

ments ! "

These stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing
their backs, criss-crossed Avith ropy old welts left by the lash; one
turned up his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once

"they were whipped at the cakt's tail,

been ; another showed a brand upon his

shoulder — the letter V — and a mutilated ear ; the third said —

" I am Yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving wife and
kids — now am I somewhat different in estate and calling; and the
wife and kids are gone ; mayhap they are in heaven, mayhap in — in

214 FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

the other place — but the kindly God be thanked, they bide no more
in England ! My good old blameless mother strove to earn bread by
nursing the sick ; one of these died, the doctors knew not how, so my
mother was burnt for a witch, whilst my babes looked on and wailed.
English law ! — up, all, with your cups ! — now altogether and with a
cheer I — drink to the merciful English law that delivered her from the
English hell ! Thank you, mates, one and all. I begged, from house
to house — I and the wife — bearing with us the hungry kids — but it
was crime to be hungry in England — so they stripped us and lashed
us through three towns. Drink ye all again to the merciful English
law ! — for its lash drank deep of my Mary's blood and its blessed
deliverance came quick. She lies there, in the potter's field, safe from
all harms. And the kids — well, whilst the law lashed me from town
to town, they starved. Drink lads — only a drop — a drop to the poor
kids, that never did any creature harm. I begged again — begged for
a crust, and got the stocks and lost an ear — see, here bides the stump ;
I begged again, and here is the stump of the other to keep me minded
of it. And still I Ijegged again, and was sold for a slave — here on my
cheek under tliis stain, if I washed it off, ye might see the red S the
branding-iron left there ! A slave ! Do ye understand that word !
An English slave! — that is he that stands before ye. I have run
from my master, and when I am found — the heavy curse of heaven
fall on the law of the land that hath commanded it !~ — I shall
hang ! " i

A ringing voice came through the murky air —
" Thou shalt not ! — and this day the end of that law is come ! "
All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little king approach-
ing hurriedly ; as it emerged into the light and was clearly revealed,
a general explosion of inquiries broke out :

" Who is it ? WJiat is it ? Who art thou, manikin ? "

1 See Note 10, at eud of volume.

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

215

The boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those surprised and
questioning eyes, and answered with princely dignity —

" I am Edward, king of England."'

A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and partly of
delight in the
excellence of
the joke. The
king was
stun g. He
said sharply —

"• Ye man-
n e r 1 e s s va-
grants, is this
your recogni-
tion of the
royal boon I
have prom-
ised?"

He said
more, with an-
gry voice and
excited ges-
ture, but it was

lost in a whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclamations. " John
Hobbs " made several attempts to make himself heard above the din,
and at last succeeded — saying —

"Mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad — mind
him not — he thinketh he is the king."

" I am the king," said Edward, turning toward him, " as thou shalt
know to thy cost, in good time. Thou hast confessed a murder — thou
shalt swing for it."

THOU SHALT NOT.

216

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

" Tlioult betray me ? — thou ? An' I get my hands upon thee " —
" Tut-tut ! " said the burly Ruffler, interposing in time to save the
king, and emphasizing this service by knocking Hobbs down with his
fist, " hast respect for neither Kings nor Rufflers ? An' thou insult my

presence so
again, I'll hang
thee up my-
self." Then he
said to his maj-
esty, " T h o u
must make no
threats against
thy mates, lad ;
and thou must
guard thy
tongue from
saying evil of
them else-
where. Be
king, if it
please thy mad
humor, but be
not harmful in
it. Sink the
title thou hast
uttered, — 'tis
treason ; we be bad men, in some few trifling ways, but none among
us is so base as to be traitor to his king ; we be loving and loyal hearts,
in that regard. Note if I speak truth. Now — all together : ' Long live
Edward, king of England I ' "'

" Long live Edwaed, King of England ! "

KNOCKING HOBBS DOWN.

FOO-FOO THE FIRST. 217

The response came with such a thundergust from the motley crew
that the crazy building vibrated to the sound. The httle king's face
lighted with pleasure for an instant, and he slightly inclined his head
and said with grave simplicity —

" I thank you, my good people."

This unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of
merriment. When something like quiet was presently come again,
the Ruffler said, firmly, but with an accent of good nature —

" Drop it, boy, "tis not wise, nor well. Humor thy fancy, if thou
must, but choose some other title."

A tinker shrieked out a suggestion —

" Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves ! "

The title " took," at once, every throat responded, and a roaring
shout went up, of —

" Long live Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves ! " followed
by hootings, cat-calls, and peals of laughter.

" Hale him forth, and crown him ! "

" Robe him ! "

" Sceptre him ! "

" Throne him ! "

These and twenty other cries broke out at once ; and almost before
the poor little victim could draw a breath he was crowned with a tin
basin, robed in a tattered blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred
with the tinker's soldering-iron. Then all flung themselves upon their
knees about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and mock-
ing supplications, whilst they swabbed their eyes with their soiled and
ragged sleeves and aprons —

" Be gracious to us, O, sweet king ! "

" Trample not upon thy beseeching worms, O noble majesty ! "

" Pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick I "

" Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, O flaming sun of
sovereignty ! "

218

FOO-FOO THE FIRST.

" Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat
the dirt and be ennobled ! '"

''Deign to spit upon us, O sire, that our children's children may
tell of tlw princely condescension, and be proud and happy for-

ever

mm k

But the humorous tinker made the " hit " of the evening and car-
ried off the honors. Kneeling, he pretended to kiss the king's foot,
and was indignantly spurned ; whereupon he went about begging for
a rag to paste over the place upon his face which had been touched by
the foot, saying it must be preserved from contact with the vulgar air,
and that he should make his fortune by going on the highway and
exposing it to view at the rate of a hundred shillings a sight. He

FOO-FOO THE FIRST. 219

made himself so killiiigl}- funny tliat he was the envy and admiration
of the whole mangy rabble.

Tears of shame and indignation stood in the little monarch's eyes ;
and the thought in his heart was, " Had I offered them a deep wrong
they could not be more cruel — yet have I proffered nought but to do
V them a kindness — and it is thus they use me for it! "

®'8)@^®@'@®®®®@@W§>®®'®®'@®^®®(I

Y-^-

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

The troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and set forward
on their march. There was a lowering sky overhead, sloppy ground
under foot, and a winter chill in the air. All gayety was gone from
the company ; some were sullen and silent, some were irritable and
petulant, none were gentle-humored, all were thirsty.

The Ruffler put " Jack " in Hugo's charge, with some brief instruc-
tions, and commanded John Canty to keep away from him and let him
alone ; he also warned Hugo not to be too rough with the lad.

After a while the weather grew milder, and the clouds lifted some-
what. The troop ceased to shiver, and their spirits began to improve.
They grew more and more cheerful, and finally began to chaff each
other and insult passengers along the highway. This showed that
they were awaking to an appreciation of life and its joys once more.
The dread in which their sort was held was apparent in the fact that
everybody gave them the road, and took their ribald insolences meekly,
without venturing to talk back. They snatched linen from the hedges,
occasionally, in full view of the owners, who made no protest, but only
seemed grateful that they did not take the hedges, too.

By and by they invaded a small farm house and made themselves
at home while the trembling farmer and his people swept the larder
clean to furnish a breakfast for them. They chucked the housewife
and her daughters under the chin whilst receiving the food from their

223

224

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

- -.^^' , L:^^^^U Jfi

hands, and made coarse jests about them, accompanied with insulting
epithets and bursts of horse-laughter. They threw bones and vege-
tables at the farmer and his sons, kept them dodging all the time, and
applauded uproariously when a good hit was made. They ended by

buttering the
head of one of
the daughters
who resented
some of their
familiarities.
When they
took their
leave they
threatened to
come back and
burn the house
over the heads
of the famil}^
if any report
of their doings
got to the ears
of the authori-
ties.

About noon,
after a long and weary tramp, the gang came to
a halt behind a hedge on the outskirts of a considerable village. An
hour was allowed for rest, then the crew scattered themselves abroad
to enter the village at different points to ply their various trades. —
" Jack " was sent with Hugo. They wandered hither and thither for
some time, Hugo watching for opportunities to do a stroke of business
but finding none — so he finally said —

" THE TROOP OF VAGABONDS SET
FOKWAKD."

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

225

"I see nought to steal; it is a paltry place. Wherefore we will
beg."

''We, forsooth! Follow thy trade — it befits thee. But / will
not beg."

" Thou'lt not beg ! " exclaimed Hugo, eying the king with sur-
prise. " Prithee, since when hast thou reformed ? " .

"What dost thou mean?"

" Mean? Hast thou not begged the streets of London all thy life?"

"I? Thou idiot!"

'4 MM 4-1^-^^

' THEY THREW BONES AND
VEGETABLES."

ire thy compliments — thy
stock will last the longer. Thy
father says thou hast begged all thy days. Mayhap he lied. Perad-
venture you will even make so bold as to say he lied," scoffed Hugo.
"Him you call my father? Yes, he lied."

" Come, play not thy merry game of madman so far, mate ; use
it for thy amusement, not thy hurt. An' I tell him this, he will
scorch thee finely for it."

"Save thyself the trouble. I will tell him."

226 THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

" I like thy spirit, I do in truth ; but I do not admire thy judgment.
Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life, without going
out of one's way to invite them. But a truce to these matters ; /
believe your father. I doubt not he can lie ; I doubt not he doth lie,
upon occasion, for the best of us do that ; but there is no occasion
here. A wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying
for nought. But come ; sith it is thy humt)r to give over begging,
wherewithal shall we busy ourselves ? With robbing kitchens ? "

The king said, impatiently —

" Have done with this folly — you weary me ! "

Hugo replied, with temper —

" Now harkee, mate ; you will not beg, you will not rob ; so be it.
But I will tell you what you tvill do. You will play decoy wliilst /
beg. Refuse, an' you think you may venture ! "

The king was about to reply contemptuously, when Hugt) said,
interrupting —

" Peace ! Here comes one with a kindl}' face. Now will I fall
down in a fit. When the stranger runs to me, set you up a wail, and
fall upon your knees, seeming to weep ; then cry out as all the devils
of misery were in your belly, and say, ' O, sir, it is my poor afflicted
brother, and we be friendless ; o' God's name cast through your mer-
ciful eyes one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken and most miserable
wretch ; bestow one little penny out of thy riches upon one smitten
of God and ready to perish ! ' — and mind you, keep you 071 wailing,
and abate not till we bilk him of his penny, else shall you rue it."

Then immediately Hugo began to moan, and groan, and roll his
eyes, and reel and totter about ; and Avhen the stranger was close at
hand, down he sprawled before him, with a shriek, and began to writhe
and wallow in the dirt, in seeming agony.

" O dear, O dear ! " cried the benevolent stranger, "• O poor soul,
poor soul, how he doth suffer! There — let me help thee up."

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

227

'' O, noble sir, forbear, aiitl God love you for a princely gentleman

— but it givetli me cruel j^ain to touch me when I am taken so. My

brother there will tell your worship how I am racked with anguish

"when these fits be upon me. A penny, dear sir, a penny, to buy a

little food ; then leave me to my sorrows."

"A penny! thou shalt have three, thou hapless creature" — and
he fumbled '

in his pocket
with nervous
haste and ""ot
the m o u t.
" There, poor
1 a d, t a. k e

/ z3j " BEGAN TO WKITHE AND WALLOW IN THE DIRT."

them, and most welcome. Now come hither,
my boy, and hel]) me carry thy stricken brother to yon house,
where " —

" I am not his brother," said the king, interrupting.

"What! not his brother?"

" O hear him ! " groaned Hugo, then privately ground his teeth.
" He denies his own brother — and he with one foot in the grave ! "

228

THE PRINCE WITH THE TEAMPS.

" Boy, thou art indeed hard of heart, if this is thy brother. For
shame ! — and he scarce able to move hand or foot. If he is not thy
brother, who is he, then ? "

" A beggar and a thief ! He has got your money and has picked

your pocket likewise. An' thou Avouldst
do a healing miracle, lay thy staff over

his shoulders and
trust Providence
for the rest."

But Hugo did
not tarry for the
miracle. In a mo-
ment he was up
and off like the
wind, the gen-

~^- tleman following
after and raising
the line and cry lustily as
he went. The king, breath-
ing deep gratitude to Heaven for his
own release, fled in the opposite direc-
tion and did not slacken his pace until
he was out of harm's reach. He took
the first road that offered, and soon
put the village behind him. He hur-
ried along, as briskly as he could,
during several hours, keeping a ner-
vous watch over his shoulder for pursuit; but his fears left him at
last, and a grateful sense of security took their place. He recognized,
now, that he was hungry ; and also very tired. So he halted at a
farm house ; but when he was about to speak, he was cut short and
driven rudely away. His clothes were against him.

" THE KING KI.ED IN THE OPPOSITE
DIRECTION."

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS. 229

He wandered on, wounded and indignant, and was resolved to put
himself in the way of like treatment no more. But hunger is pride's
master ; so as the evening drew near, he made an attempt at another
farm house ; but here he fared worse than before ; for he Avas called
hard names and was promised arrest as a vagrant except he moved
on promptly.

The night came on, chilly and overcast ; and still the footsore
monarch labored slowly on. He was obliged to keep moving, for
every time he sat down to rest he was soon penetrated to the bone
with the cold. All his sensations and experiences, as he moved
through the solemn gloom and the empty vastness of the night, were
new and strange to him. At intervals he heard voices approach, pass
by, and fade into silence ; and as he saw nothing more of the bodies
they belonged to than a sort of formless drifting blur, there was
something spectral and uncanny about it all that made him shudder.
Occasionally he caught the twinkle of a light — always far away,
apparently — almost in another world; if he heard the tinkle of a
sheep's bell, it was vague, distant, indistinct; the muffled lowing of
the herds floated to him on the night wind in vanishing cadences, a
mournful sound ; now and then came the complaining howl of a dog
over viewless expanses of field and forest; all sounds were remote;
they made the little king feel that all life and activity were far
removed from him, and that he stood solitary, companionless, in the
centre of a measureless solitude.

He stumbled along, through the grewsome fascinations of this new
experience, startled occasionally by the soft rustling of the dry leaves
overhead, so like human whispers they seemed to sound ; and by and
by he came suddenly upon the freckled light of a tin lantern near at
hand. He stepped back into the shadows and Avaited. The lantern
stood by the open door of a barn. The king waited some time —
there was no sound, and nobody stirring. He got so cold, standing

230

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

still, and the hospitable barn looked so enticing, that at last he re-
solved to risk every thing and enter. He started swiftly and stealthily,
and just as he was crossing the threshold he heard voices behind him.
He darted behind a cask, within the barn, and stooped down. Two

farm laborers came in,
tern with them, and
ing meanwhile. Whilst
with the light, the king
his eves and took the

HE STUMBLED ALONG.

bringing the Ian-
fell to work, talk-
they moved about
made good use of
bearings of what

seemed to be a good sized stall at the further end of the place, pur-
posing to grope his way to it when he should be left to himself. He
also noted the position of a pile of horse blankets, midway of the
route, with the intent to levy upon them for the service of the crown

of England for one night.

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS. 231

By and by the men finished and went away, fastening the door
behind tliem and taking the lantern with them. The shivering king
made for the blankets, with as good speed as the darkness would
allow ; gathered them up and then groped his way safely to the stall.
Of two of the blankets he made a bed, then covered himself with the
remaining two. He was a glad monarch, now, though the blankets
were old and thin, and not quite warm enough ; and besides gave out
a pungent horsy odor that was almost suffocatingly powerful.

Although the king was hungry and chilly, he was also so tired and
so drowsy that these latter influences soon began to get the advantage
of the former, and he presently dozed off into a state of semi-con-
sciousness. Thens just as he was on the point of losing himself
wholly, he distinctly felt something touch him I He was broad awake
in a moment, and gasping for breath. The cold horror of that mys-
terious touch in the dark almost made his heart stand still. He lay
motionless, and listened, scarcely breathing. But nothing stirred, and
there was no sound. He continued to listen, and wait, during what
seemed a long time, but still nothing stirred, and there was no sound.
So he began to drop into a drowse once more, at last ; and all at once
lie felt that mysterious touch again ! It was a grisly thing, this light
touch from this noiseless and invisible presence ; it made the boy sick
with ghostly fears. What should he do? That was the question;
but he did not know how to answer it. Should he leave these reason-
ably comfortable quarters and fly from this inscrutable horror? But
fly whither? He could not get out of the barn; and the idea of
, scurrying blindly hither and thither in the dark, within the captivity
of the four walls, with this phantom gliding after him, and visiting
him with that soft hideous touch upon cheek or shoulder at every
turn, was intolerable. But to stay where he was, and endure this
living death all night? — was that better?. No. What, then, was
there left to do ? Ah, there was but one course ; he knew it well —
he must put out his hand and find that thing !

232

THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

It was easy to think this ; but it was hard to brace himself up to
try it. Three times he stretched his hand a little way out into the
dark, gingerly ; and snatched it suddenly back, with a gasp — not
because it had encountered any thing, but because he had felt so sure
it was just going to. But the fourth time, he groped a little further,
and his hand lightly swept against something soft and warm. This

WHAT SEEMED TO BE A WAKJI JIOI'K.

>^-^l^

petrified him, nearly, with fright —
his mind was in such a state that
he could imagine the thing to be nothing else than a corpse, newly
dead and still warm. He thought he would rather die than touch it
again. But he thought this false thought because he did not know
the immortal strength of human curiosity. In no long time his hand
was tremblingly groping again — against his judgment, and without
his consent — but groping persistently on, just the same. It encoun-
tered a bunch of long hair ; he shuddered, but followed up the hair
and found what seemed to be a warm rope ; followed up the rope and
found an innocent calf ! —r for the rope was not a rope at all, but the
calf's tail.

THE PRINCE WITH THE TliAMPS.

233

The king was cordially ashamed of himself for having gotten all
that fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as a slumbering calf;
but he need not have felt so about it, for it was not the calf that
frightened him but a dreadful non-existent something which the calf
stood for ; and any other boy, in those old superstitious times, would
have acted and suffered just as he had done.

The king was not only delighted to find that the creature was
only a calf, but delighted to
have the calf s company , for
he had been
feeling so lone-
some and friend-
less that the
company and
comradeship of
even this hum-
ble animal was
welcome. And
he had been so
buffeted, so

rudely entreated by his own kind, that it
was a real comfort to him to feel that he

was at last in the society of a fellow creature that had at least a soft
heart and a gentle spirit, whatever loftier attributes might be lacking.
So he resolved to waive rank and make friends with the calf.

While stroking its sleek warm back — for it lay near him and
within easy reach — it occurred to him that this calf might be utilized
in more ways than one. Whereupon he re-arranged his bed, spread-
ing it down close to the calf; then he cuddled himself up to the calf's
back, drew the covers up over himself and his friend, and in a minute
or two was as warm and comfortable as he had ever been in the downy
couches of the regal palace of Westminster.

CUDDLED UP TO THE CALF.

234 THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS.

Pleasant thoughts came, at once ; life took on a cheerfuller seem-
ing. He was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free of the
companionship of base and brutal outlaws ; he was warm, he was shel-
tered ; in a word, he was happy. The night wind was rising ; it swept
by in fitful gusts that made the old barn quake and rattle, then its
forces died down at intervals, and went moaning and wailing around
corners and projections — but it was all music to the king, now that
he was snug and comfortable : let it blow and rage, let it batter and
bang, let it moan and wail, he minded it not, he only enjoyed it. He
merely snuggled the closer to his friend, in a luxury of warm content-
ment, and drifted blissfully out of consciousness into a deep and
dreamless sleep that was full of serenity and peace. The distant
dogs howled, the melancholy kine complained, and the winds went on
raging, whilst furious sheets of rain drove along the roof; but the
majesty of England slept on, undisturbed, and the calf did the same,
it being a simple creature and not easily troubled by storms or eniljar-
rassed by sleeping with a king.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

When the king awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet
but thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and made
a cosey bed for itself in his bosom. Being disturbed, now, it scam-
pered away. The boy smiled, and said, " Poor fool, why so fearful ?
I am as forlorn as thou. 'Twould be a shame in me to hurt the help-
less, who am myself so helpless. Moreover, I owe you thanks for a
good omen ; for when a king has fallen so low that the very rats do
make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his fortunes be upon the
turn, since it is plain he can no lower go."

He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he heard the
sound of children's voices. The barn door opened and a couple of
little girls came in. As soon as they saw him their talking and
laughing ceased, and they stopped and stood still, gazing at him with
strong curiosity ; they presently began to whisj)er together, then they
approached nearer, and stopped again to gaze and whisper. By and
by they gathered courage and began to discuss him aloud. One
said —

"He hath a comely face."

The other added —

"And pretty hair."

" But is ill clothed enow."

"And hgw starved he looketh."

237

238 THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and abont him, ex-
amining him minutely from all points, as if he were some strange new
kind of animal ; but warily and watchfully, the while, as if they half
feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion.
Finally they halted before him, holding each other's hands, for protec-
tion, and took a good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes ; then
one of them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest
directness —

"Who art thou, boy?"

" I am the king," was the grave answer.

The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves
wide open and remained so during a speechless half minute. Then
curiosity broke the silence —

" The king ? What king ? "

" The king of England."

The children looked at each other — then at him — then at each
other again — wonderingly, perplexedly — then one said —

" Didst hear him, Margery ? — he saith he is the king. Can that
be true ? "

" How can it be else but true, Prissy ? Would he say a lie ? For
look you. Prissy, an' it were not true, it ivould be a lie. It surely
would be. Now think on't. For all things that be not true, be lies —
thou canst make nought else out of it."

It was a good tight argument, without a leak in it anywhere ; and
it left Prissy's half-doubts not a leg to stand on. She considered a
moment, then put the king upon his honor with the simple remark —

" If thou art truly the king, then I believe thee."

" I am truly the king."

This settled the matter. His majesty's royalty was accepted with-
out further question or discussion, and the two little girls began at
once to inquire into how he came to be where he was, and how he

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

239

caine to be so uiiruyally clad, and whither he was bound, and all abmit
his affairs. It was a mighty relief to him to pour out his troubles
where they would not be scoffed at or doubted ; so he told his tale
with feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the time ; and it was
received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy by the gentle little
maids. Rut when he got down to his latest experiences and they
learned how long he had been without food,
they cut him short and hurried him away to
the farm house

to find a break-
fast for him.

The king
was cheerful
and happy,
now, and said
to h i m s e 1 f,
"When I am
come to mine
own again, I
will a 1 w a y s
h o n o r little
children, re-
m e m b e r i n g

Iiow that these trusted me and believed in me
in my time of trouble ; whilst they that were older, and thought them-
selves wiser, mocked at me and held me for a liar."

The children's mother received the king kindly, and was full of
pity ; for his forlorn condition and apparently crazed intellect touched
her womanly heart. She was a widow, and rather poor ; consequently
slie had seen trouble enough to enable her to feel for the unfortunate.
She imagined that the demented boy had wandered away from his,

240

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

friends or keepers; so she tried to find out whence he had come, in
order that she might take measures to return him ; but all her refer-
ences to neighboring towns and villages, and all her inquiries in the
same line, went for nothing — the boy's face, and his answ^ers, too,
showed that the things she was talking of were not familiar to him.
He spoke earnestly and simply about court matters ; and broke down.

THE children's MOTHEK RECEIVED THE KING KINDLY."

more than once, when speaking of the late king " his father ; " but
whenever the conversation changed to baser topics, he lost interest and
became silent.

The woman was mightily puzzled ; but she did not give up. As
she proceeded with her cooking, she set herself to contriving devices
to surprise the boy into betraying his real secret. She talked about

TllK PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS. 241

cattle — he showed no concern; then about sheep — the same result —
so her guess that he had been a shepherd boy was an error ; she talked
about mills ; and about weavers, tinkers, smiths, trades and tradesmen
of all sorts ; and about Bedlam, and jails, and charitable retreats ; but
no matter, she was baffled at all points. Not altogether, either ; for
she argued that she had narrowed the thing down to domestic service.
Yes, she was sure she was on the right track, now — he must have
been a house servant. So she led up to that. But the result was
discouraging. The subject of sweeping appeared to weary him ; fire-
building failed to stir him ; scrubbing and scouring awoke no enthu-
siasm. Then the goodwife touched, with a perishing hope, and rather
as a matter of form, upon the subject of cooking. To her surprise, and
her vast delight, the king's face lighted at once ! Ah, she had hunted
him down at last, she thought ; and she was right proud too, of the
devious shrewdness and tact which had accomplished it.

Her tired tongue got a chance to rest, now ; for the king's, in-
spired by gnawing hunger and the fragrant smells that came from the
sputtering pots and pans, turned itself loose and delivered itself up
to such an eloquent dissertation upon certain toothsome dishes, that
within three minutes the woman said to herself, " Of a truth I was
right — he hath holpen in a kitchen!" Then he broadened his bill
of fare, and discussed it with such appreciation and animation, that
the goodwife said to herself, " Good lack ! how can he know so many
dishes, and so fine ones withal ? For these belong only upon the tables
of the rich and great. Ah, now I see ! ragged outcast as he is, he
must have served in the palace before his reason went astray ; yes, he
must have helped in the very kitchen of the king himself I I will test
him."

Full of eagerness to prove her sagacity, she told the king to mind
the cooking a moment — hinting that he might manufacture and add
a dish or two, if he chose — then she went out of the room and gave
her children a sign to follow after. The king muttered —

242

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

'• Another English king had a commission like to this, in a bygone
time — it is nothing against my dignity to undertake an office which
the great Alfred stooped to assume. But I will try to better serve my
trust than he ; for he let the cakes burn."

The intent was good, but the performance was not answerable

to it ; for this king, like the
other one, soon fell into deep
thinkings concerning his vast
affairs, and the
same calamity
resulted — the
cookery got
burned. The
woman returned
in time to save
the breakfast
from entire de-
struction ; and
she promptly
brought the
king out of his
dreams with a
brisk and cordial
tongue - lashing.
Then, seeing
how troubled he

"bkought the kixg out of his dreams." was, over his

violated trust,
she softened at once and was all goodness and gentleness toward
him.

The boy made a hearty and satisfying meal, and was greatly re-

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS. 243'

freshed and gladdened by it. It was a meal which was distinguished
by this curious feature, that rank was waived on both sides ; yet
neither recipient of the favor was aware that it had been extended.
The goodwife had intended to feed this young tramp with broken
victuals in a corner, like any other tramp, or like a dog ; but she was
so remorseful for the scolding she had given him, that she did what
she could to atone for it by allowing him to sit at the family table
and eat with his betters, on ostensible terms of equality with them ;
and the king, on his side, was so remorseful for having broken hin
trust, after the family had been so kind to him, that he forced himself
to atone for it by humbling himself to the family level, instead of
requiring the woman and her children to stand and wait upon him
while he occupied their table in the solitary state due his birth and
dignity. It does us all good to unbend sometimes. This good woman
was made happy all the day long by the applauses which she got out
of herself for her magnanimous condescension to a tramp ; and the
king was just as self-complacent over his gracious humility toward a
humble peasant woman.

When breakfast was over, the housewife told the king to wash up
the dishes. This command was a staggerer, for a moment, and the
king came near rebelling ; but then he said to himself, " Alfred the
Great watched the cakes ; doubtless he would have washed the dishes,
too — therefore will I essay it."

He made a sufficiently poor job of it ; and to his surprise, too, for
the cleaning of wooden spoons and trenchers had seemed an easy thing
to do. It was a tedious and troublesome piece of work, but he finished
it at last. He was becoming impatient to get away on his journey
now ; however, he was not to lose this thrifty dame's society so easily.
She furnished him some little odds and ends of employment, which he
got through with after a fair fashion and with some credit. Then she
set him and the little girls to paring some winter apples ; but he was

244

THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS.

SO awkward at this service, that she retired him from it and gave him
a butcher knife to grind. Afterward she kept him carding wool until
he began to think he had laid the good King Alfred about far enough

in the shade for the present, in the matter of
showy menial heroisms that would read pic-
resquelj in story-books and histories, and so
was half minded to resign. And when, just
after the noonday dinner, the goodwife gave him
a basket of kittens to drown, he
did resign. At least he was just
going to resign — for he felt that
he must draw the line somewhere,
and it seemed to him that to
draw it at kitten-drowning was
about the right thing — when
there was an interruption. The
interruption was John Canty — with a
peddler's pack on his back — and Hugo !

The King discovered these rascals ap-
proaching the front gate before they had
had a chance to see him ; so he said noth-
ing about drawing the line, but took up
his basket of kittens and stepped quietly
out the back way, without a word. He left the creatures in an out-
house, and hurried on, into a narrow lane at the rear.

GAVE HIM A BUTCHEK
KNIFE TO GlilND."

PfFPince

CHAPTER XX.

THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

The high hedge hid him from the house, now ; and so, under the
impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his forces and sped toward
a wood in the distance. He never looked back until he had almost
gained the shelter of the forest ; then he turned and descried two
figures in the distance. That was sufficient ; he did not wait to scan
them critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till he was
far within the twilight depths of the wood. Then he stopped ; being
persuaded that he was now tolerably safe. He listened intently, but
the stillness was profound and solemn — awful, even, and depressing
to the spirits. At wide intervals his straining ear did detect sounds,
but they were so remote, and hollow, and mysterious, that they seemed
not to be real sounds, but only the moaning and complaining ghosts
of departed ones. So the sounds were yet more dreary than the
silence which they interrupted.

It was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he was, the rest
of the day ; but a chill soon invaded his perspiring body, and he was
at last obliged to resume movement in order to get warm. He struck
straight through the forest, hoping to pierce to a road presently, but
he was disappointed in this. He travelled on and on ; but the farther
he went, the denser the wood became, apparently. The gloom began
to thicken, by and by, and the king realized that the night was coming
on. It made him shudder to think of spending it in such an uncanny

247

248

TUE FRINGE AND THE HERMIT.

place ; so he tried to hurry faster, but he only made the less speed, for
he could not now see well enough to choose his steps judiciously ;
consequently he kept tripping over roots and tangling himself in vines
and briers.

And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer of a
light ! He approached it warily, stopping
often to look about him and listen. It came ^.

from an unglazed window
opening in a shabby little
hut. He heard a voice, now,
and felt a disposition to run
and hide ; but he changed his
mind at once, for this voice
was praying, evidently. He
glided to the one window of
the hut, raised himself on tip-
toe, and stole a glance within. The room was small ; its floor was the
natural earth, beaten hard by use ; in a corner was a bed of rushes and
a ragged blanket or two ; near it was a pail, a cup, a basin, and two or
three pots and pans ; there was a short bench and a three-legged stool ;

HE TUKNEB AND DESCKIED IWo FKUKKS."

THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

249

on the hearth the remains of a fagot fire were smouldering ; before a
shrine, which was lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and
on an old wooden box at his side, lay an open book and a human skull.
The man was of large, bony frame ; his hair and whiskers were very

long and snowy white ; he was
clothed in a robe of sheepskins
which reached from his neck to
his heels.

'■'■ A holy hermit 1 " said the
king to himself; "now am I
indeed fortunate."

The hermit rose from his knees ; the king knocked. A deep voice
responded —

" Enter ! — but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon thou shalt
stand is holy ! ""

250 THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a pair of gleam-
ing, unrestful eyes upon him, and said —

"Who art thou?"

" I am the king," came the answer, with placid simplicity.

" Welcome, king I " cried the hermit, v/ith enthusiasm. Then, bus-
tling about with feverish activity, and constantly saying " Welcome,
welcome," he arranged his bench, seated the king on it, by the hearth,
threw some fagots on the fire, and finally fell to pacing the floor, with
a nervous stride.

" Welcome ! Many have sought sanctuary here, but they were
not worthy, and were turned away. But a king who casts his crown
away, and despises the vain splendors of his office, and clothes his body
in rags, to devote his life to holiness and the mortification of the flesh
— he is worthy, he is welcome ! — here shall he abide all his days till
death come." The king hastened to interrupt and explain, but the
hermit paid no attention to him — did not even hear him, apparently,
but went right on with his talk, with a raised voice and a growing
energy. " And thou shalt be at peace here. None shall find out thy
refuge to disquiet thee with supplications to return to that empty and
foolish life which God hath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray,
here ; thou shalt study the Book ; thou shalt meditate upon the follies
and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities of the world to
come ; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, and scourge thy body
with whips, daily, to the purifying of thy soul. Thou shalt wear a
hair shirt next thy skin ; thou shalt drink water, only ; and thou shalt
be at peace ; yes, wholl}^ at peace ; for whoso comes to seek thee shall
go his way again, baffled ; he shall not find thee, he shall not molest
thee."

The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak aloud,
and l)egan to mutter. The king seized this opportunity to state his
case ; and he did it with an eloquence inspired by uneasiness and

THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

251

apprehension. But the hermit went on muttering, and gave no heed.
And still muttering, he approached the king and said, impressively —
" 'Sh ! I will tell you a secret ! " He bent down to impart it, but
checked himself, and assumed a listening attitude. After a moment
or two he went on tiptoe to the window-opening, put his head out and
peered around in the gloaming,
then came tiptoeing back again,
put his face close down to the
king's, and whispered —

" I am an archangel ! "

The king started violently, and
said to himself, "Would God
were with the outlaws
again ; for lo, now am I
the prisoner of a mad-
man ! " His apprehen-
sions were heightened,
and they showed plainly
in his face. In a low,
excited voice, the hermit
continued —

" I see you feel my
atmosphere ! There's awe
in your face ! None may
be in this atmosphere and
not be thus affected ; for
it is the very atmosphere -

of heaven. I go thither and return, in the twinkling of an eye. I
was made an archangel on this very spot, it is five years ago, by
angels sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their presence
filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And they knelt to

" I WILL TELL YOU A SECRET.'

252 THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

me, king ! yes, they knelt to me ! for I was greater than they.
I have walked in the courts of heaven, and held speech with the
patriarchs. Touch my hand — be not afraid — touch it. There —
now thou hast touched a hand which has been clasj)ed by Abraham,
and Isaac and Jacob ! For I have walked in the golden courts, I have
seen the Deity face to face ! " He paused, to give this speech effect ;
then his face suddenly changed, and he started to his feet again,
saying, with angry energy, " Yes, I am an archangel ; a mere arch-
angel!— I that might have been pope ! It is verily true. I was told
it from heaven in a dream, twenty years ago ; ah, yes, I was to be
pope ! — and I should have been pope, for Heaven had said it — but
the king dissolved my religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended
monk, was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty des-
tiny ! " Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in
futile rage, with his fist ; now and then articulating a venomous curse,
and now and then a pathetic " Wherefore I am nought but an arch-
angel— I that should have been pope!"

So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little king sat and
suffered. Then all at once the old man's frenzy departed, and he
became all gentleness. His voice softened, he came down out of liis
clouds, and fell to prattling along so simply and so hmnanly, that he
soon won the king's heart completely. The old devotee moved' the
boy nearer to the fire and made him comfortable ; doctored his small
bruises and abrasions with a deft and tender hand ; and then set about
preparing and cooking a supper — chatting pleasantly all the time,
and occasionally stroking the lad's cheek or patting his head, in such
a gently caressing way that in a little while all the fear and repulsion
inspired by the archangel were changed to reverence and affection frr
the man.

This happy state of things continued while the two ate the supper ;
then, after a prayer before the shrine, the hermit put the boy to bed,

THE PBINCE AND THE HERMIT.

253

in a small adjoining room, tucking him in as snugly and lovingly as
a mother might ; and so, with a parting caress, left him and sat down
by the fire, and began to poke the brands about in an absent and aim-
less way. Presently he paused; tlien tapped his forehead several
times with his fingers, as if trying to
recall some thought which had es-
caped from his mind. Apparently
he was unsuc-
cessful. Now he
started quickl}^
up, and entered
his guest's room,
and said —

"Thou
art king?"

"Ye s,"
wa s the
response,
drowsily
uttered.

" What

king ? "

"Of
England."

"Of
England!
Then Henry is gone ! "

" Alack, it is so. I am his son."

A black frown settled down upon the hermit's face, and he
clenched his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He stood a few
moments, breathing fast and swallowing repeatedly, then said in a
husky voice —

CHATTING PI.EASANTI.V ALL THK TIME.

254 THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

" Dost know it was he that turned us out into the workl houseless
and homeless ? "*

There was no response. The old man bent down and scanned the
boy's reposeful face and listened to his placid breathing. "• He sleeps
— sleeps soundly;" and the frown vanished away and gave place to
an expression of evil satisfaction. A smile flitted across the dreaming
boy's features. The hermit muttered, ''So — his heart is happy;"
and he turned away. He went stealthily about the place, seeking
here and there for something ; now and then halting to listen, now
and then jerking his head around and casting a quick glance toward
the bed ; and always muttering, always mumbling to himself. At
last he found what he seemed to want — a rusty old butcher knife
and a whetstone. Then he crept to his place by the fire, sat himself
down, and began to whet the knife softly on the stone, still muttering,
mumbling, ejaculating. The winds sighed around the lonely place,
the mysterious voices of the night floated by out of the distances.
The shining eyes of venturesome mice and rats peered out at the old
man from cracks and coverts, but he went on with his work, rapt
absorbed, and noted none of these things.

At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his knife,
and nodded his head with satisfaction. "It grows sharper," he said;
"yes, it grows sharper."

He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tranquilly on,
entertaining himself with his thoughts, which broke out occasionally
in articulate speech :

" His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us — and is gone down
into the eternal fires ! Yes, down into the eternal fires! He escaped
us — but it was God's will, yes it was God's will, we must not repine.
But he hath not escaped the fires ! no, he hath not escaped the
fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires — and they are ever-
lasting ! "

THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT.

255

And so he wrought ; and still wrought ; mumbling — chuckling a
low rasping chuckle, at times — and at times breaking again into
words :

"It was his father that did it all. -- i

I am but an archangel — but for him, I
should be pope ! " /—:jl.r/^i:z::y -x>/y

The king stirred. The
hermit sprang noiselessly
to the bedside, and went
down upon his knees,
bending over the prostrate
form with his knife up-
lifted. The boy stirred
again ; his eyes came open r^-^^'^i'M
for an instant, but • - kM[4k

there was no specu-
1 a t i o n in
them, they
saw noth-
i n g ; the
next m o-
m e n t his
tranquil
breathing
showed that
his sleep was

sound once
more.

The hermit watched and listened, for a time, keeping his position
and scarcely breathing ; then he slowly lowered his arm, and presently-
crept away, saying, —

*DKEW ins THUMB ALONG THE EDGE.

266

THE PBINCE AND THE HEEMIT.

" It is long past midnight — it is not best that he should cry out,
lest b}^ accident some one be passing."

He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong there,
and another one yonder ; then he returned, and by careful and gentle
handling, he managed to tie the king's ankles together without wak-

"THE next moment they WKKE HOdNO.

ing him. Next he essayed to tie the wrists ; he made several attempts
to cross them, but the boy always drew one hand or the other away,
just as the cord was ready to be applied ; but at last, when the arch-
angel was almost ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands himself,
and the next moment they were bound. Now a bandage was passed
under the sleeper's chin and brought up over his head and tied fast —
and so softly, so gradually, and so deftly were the knots drawn to-
gether and compacted, that the boy slept peacefully through it all
without stirring.

CHAPTER XXL

HENDON TO THE RESCUE.

The old man glided away, stooping, stealthy, cat-like, and brought
the low bench. He seated himself uj^on it, half his body in the dim
and flickering light, and the other half in shadow ; and so, with his
craving eyes bent npon the slmnbering boy, he kept his patient vigil
there, heedless of the drift of time, and softly whetted his knife, and
mnmbled and clmckled ; and in aspect and attitude he resembled
nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating over some
hapless insect that lay bound and helpless in his web.

After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing, — yet not
seeing, his mind liaving settled into a dreamy abstraction, — observed
on a sudden, that the boy's eyes were open — wide open and staring !
— staring up iji frozen liorror at the knife. The smile of a gratified
devil crept over the old man's face, and he said, without changing his
attitude or his occupation —

"Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed?"
The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds ; and at the same time
forced a smothered sound through his closed jaws, which the hermit
cho. e to interpret as an affirmative answer to his question.
" Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying ! "
A shudder shook the boy's frame, and his face blenched. Then
he struggled again to free himself — turning and twisting himself this
way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, desperately — but uselessly

259

260

HEN DON TO THE BESCUE.

to burst his fetters: and all the while the old ogre smiled down

upon him, and nodded his head, and placidly whetted his knife ;
mumbling, from time to time. " The moments are precious, they are
few and precious — pray the prayer for the dying!"

The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his struggles,
panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one after the other,
down his face ; but this piteous sight wrought no softening

enect upon ine / 'm savage old man.

'he dawn was coming, now ; the hermit
wed it, and spoke up sharply, with a
touch of nervous apprehension in his
voice —

I may not indulge this ecstasy
longer ! The night is already gone.
It seems but a moment — only a
moment ; would it had
endured a year ! Seed
of the Church's spoiler,
close thy perishing eyes,
an' thou fearest to look
upon "...

The rest was lost in

inarticulate mutterings.

The old man sunk upon

his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the moaning

boy —

Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin — the knife
dropped from the hermit's hand ; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and
started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently the voices
became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for help; then
a clatter of swift footsteps, retreating. Immediately came a succession
of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by —

■^

HE SUNK UPON HrS KNEES, HIS KNIFE IN HAND.

HEN DON TO THE RESCUE. 261

" Hullo-o-o ! Open ! And desiDatch, in the name of all the
devils ! "

O, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the
king's ears ; for it was Miles Hendon's voice !

The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly
out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him ; and straight-
way the king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the
" chapel : "

" Homage and greeting, reverend sir ! Where is the boy — mi/
boy ? "

" What boy, friend ? "

" What boy ! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no decep-
tions ! — I am not in the humor for it. Near to this place I caught
the scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, and I made
them confess ; they said he was at large again, and they had tracked
him to your door. They showed me his very footprints. Now palter
no more ; for look you, holy sir, an' thou produce Iiim not — Where
is the boy ? "

" O, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal vagrant tliat
tarried here the night. If such as you take interest in such as lie,
know, then, that I have sent him of an errand. He will be back
anon."

" How soon ? How soon ? Come, waste not the time — cannot I
overtake him? How soon will he be back?"

" Thou needst not stir ; he will return quickly."

"So be it then. I will try to wait. Biit stop! — yoM sent him
of an errand? — you! Verily this is a lie — he would not go. He
would pull thy old beard, an' thou didst offer him such an insolence.
Thou hast lied, friend ; thou hast surely lied ! He would not go for
thee nor for any man."

" For any man — no; haply not. But I am not a man."

262

HENDON TO THE RESCUE.

" What! Now o' God's name what art thou, then?"
" It is a secret — mark thou reveal it not. I am an archangel ! "
There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon — not
altogether unprofane — followed by —

" This doth well and truly account for his complaisance ! Riglit
well I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the menial service
of any mortal; but lord, even a king must obey when an archangel
gives the word o' command ! Let me —

'sh! What noise y^^^^"^^^*™^^^^^^^^!.^ ^^^ that?"

All this while ^^#i|y^^s<f^^^P*^ the little king had been

"god made every creature but you!"

yonder, alternately quaking with terror and trembling with hope ;
and all the while, too, he had thrown all the strength he could into
his anguished moanings, constantly expecting them to reach Hendon's
ear, but always realizing, with bitterness, that they failed, or at least
made no impression. So this last remark of his servant came as
comes a reviving breath from fresh fields to the dying ; and he ex-
erted himself once more, and with all his energy, just as the hermit
was saying —

HENBON TO THE RESCUE. 263

"Noise? I heard only tlie wind."

" Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have been hear-
ing it faintly all the — there it is again! It is not the wind ! What
an odd sound ! Come, we will hunt it out ! "

Now the king's joy was nearly insupportable. His tired lungs
did their utmost — and hopefully, too — but the sealed jaws and the
muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. Then the poor fellow's
heart sank, to hear the hermit say —

"Ah, it came from without — I think from the copse yonder.
Come, I will lead the way."

The king heard the two pass out, talking ; heard their footsteps
die quickly away — then he was alone with a boding, brooding, awful
silence.

It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices approaching
again — and this time he heard an added sound, — the trampling of
hoofs, apparently. Then he heard Hendon say —

" I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has lost his
way in this thick wood. Which direction took he? Quick — point
it out to me."

"He — but wait; I will go with thee."

"Good — good! Why, truly thou art better than thy looks.
Marry I do not think there's not another archangel with so right a
heart as thine. Wilt ride ? Wilt take the wee donkey that's for my
boy, or wilt thou fork thy holy legs over this ill-conditioned slave of
a mule that I have provided for myself ? — and had been cheated in,
too, had he cost but the indifferent sum of a month's usury on a brass
farthing let to a tinker out of work."

" No — ride thy mule, and lead thine ass ; I am surer on mine own
feet, and will walk."

"Then prithee mind the little beast for me while I take my life

264

HEN DON TO THE RESCUE.

in my hands and make what success I may toward mounting the big

one.

Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and plun-
gings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of volleyed curses,
and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, Avhich must have broken
its spirit, for hostilities seemed to cease from that moment.

With unutterable misery the fettered little king heard the voices

and footsteps fade away and die out.
All hope forsook him, now, for the
moment, and a dull despair set-
tled down upon his heart. "My
only friend is deceived and
got rid of," he said ; " the

THE FETTERED LITTLE KING.'

hermit will return and " — He finished with a gasp ; and at once fell
to struggling so frantically with his bonds again, that he shook off
the smothering sheepskin.

And now he heard the door open ! The sound chilled him to the
marrow — already he seemed to feel the knife at his throat. Horror

HENDON TO THE RESCUE. 265

made him close his eyes ; horror made him open them again — and
before him stood John Canty and Hugo !

He would have said " Thank God ! " if his jaws had been free.

A moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his captors
each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him with all speed
through the forest.

CHAPTER XXII.

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY,

Once more " King Foo-Foo the First " was roving with the tramps
and outlaws, a butt for tlieir coarse jests and dull-witted railleries, and
sometimes the yictim of small spitefulnesses at the hands of Canty
and Hugo when the Ruffler's back was turned. None but Canty and
Hugo really disliked him. Some of the others liked him, and all
admired his pluck and spirit. During two or three days, Hugo, in
whose ward and charge the king was, did what he covertly could to
make the boy uncomfortable ; and at night, during the customary
orgies, he amused the company by putting small indignities upon him
— always as if by accident. Twice he stepped upon the king's toes —
accidentally — and the king, as became his royalty, was contemptu-
ously unconscious of it and indifferent to it ; but the third time Hugo
entertained himself in that way, the king felled him to the ground with
a cudgel, to the prodigious delight of the tribe. Hugo, consumed with
anger and shame, sprang up, seized a cudgel, and came at his small
adversary in a fury. Instantly a ring was formed around the gladia-
tors, and the betting and cheering began. But poor Hugo stood no
chance whatever. His frantic and lubberly 'prentice-work found but
a poor market for itself when pitted against an arm which had been
trained by the first masters of Europe in single-stick, quarter-staff,
and every art and trick of swordsmanship. The little king stood,
alert but at graceful ease, and caught and turned aside the thick rain

269

270

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY.

of blows with a facility and precision which set the motley on-lookers
wild with admiration ; and every now and then, when his practised
eye detected an opening, and a lightning-swift rap upon Hugo's head
followed as a result, the storm of cheers and laughter that swept the
place was something wonderful to hear. At the end of fifteen minutes,

Hugo, all battered,
bruised, and the tar-
get for a pitiless bom-
bardment of ridicule,
slunk from the field ;
and the unscathed hero
of the fight was seized
and borne aloft upon
the shoulders of the
joyous rabble to the
place of honor beside
the Ruffler, where with
vast ceremony he was
crowned King of the
Game-Cocks ; his mean-
er title being at the
same time solemnly can-
celled and annulled, and
a decree of banishment
from the gang pro-
nounced against any who should thenceforth utter it.

All attempts to make the king serviceable to the troop had failed.
He had stubbornly refused to act ; moreover he was always trying to
escape. He had been thrust into an unwatched kitchen, the first day
of his return ; he not only came forth empty handed, but tried to rouse
the housemates. He was sent out with a tinker to help him at his

HUGO STOOD NO CHANCE.'

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY. 271

work ; lie would not work ; moreover he threatened the tinker with
his own soldering-iron ; and finally bath Hugo and the tinker found
their hands full with the mere matter of keeping him from getting
away. He delivered the thunders of his royalty upon the heads of all
who hampered his liberties or tried to force him to service. He was
sent out, in Hugo's charge, in company with a slatternly woman and
a diseased baby, to beg ; but the result was not encouraging — he de-
clined to plead for the mendicants, or be a party to their cause in any
way.

Thus several days went by ; and the miseries of this tramping life,
and the weariness and sordidness and meanness and vulgarity of it,
became gradually and steadily so intolerable to the captive that he
began at last to feel that his release from the hermit's knife must
prove only a temporary respite from death, at best.

But at night, in his dreams, these things were forgotten, and he
was on his throne, and master again. This, of course, intensified the
sufferings of the awakening — so the mortifications of each succeeding
morning of the few that passed between his return to bondage and the
combat with Hugo, grew bitterer and bitterer, and harder and harder
to bear.

The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a heart filled
with vengeful purposes against the king. He had two plans, in par-
ticular. One was to inflict upon the lad what would be, to his proud
spirit and " imagined " royalty, a peculiar humiliation ; and if he failed
to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime of some kind
upon the king and then betray him into the implacable clutches of
the law.

In pursuance of the first plan, he purposed to put a " clime " upon
the king's leg; rightly judging that that would mortify him to the
last and perfect degree ; and as soon as the clime should operate, he
meant to get Canty's help, and force the king to expose his leg in the

272

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY.

highway and beg for ahns. " Clime "' was the cant term for a sore,
artificially created. To make a clime, the operator made a paste or
poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old iron, and spread
it upon a piece of leather, which was then bound tightly upon the leg.
This would presently fret off the skin, and make the flesh raw and

"HUGO BOUND THE POULTICK TIGHT AND FAST."

angry-looking ; blood was then rubbed upon the ^ "^ *'^^/7ff^i?^
limb, which, being fully dried, took on a dark and ^ \ \ '

repulsive color. Then a bandage of soiled rags was put on in a
cleverly careless way which would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen
and move the compassion of the passer-by.^

Hugo got the help of the tinker whom the king had cowed with
the soldering-iron ; they took the boy out on a tinkering tramp, and
as soon as they were out of sight of the camp they threw him down

1 From " The English Rogue; " Lomlou, IGfiS.

A VICTIM OF TREACUERY. 273

and the tinker held him while Hugo bound the poultice tight and fast
upon his leg.

The king raged and stormed, and promised to hang the two the
moment the sceptre was in his hand again ; but they kept a firm grip
upon him and enjoyed his impotent struggling and jeered at his
threats. This continued until the poultice began to bite ; and in no
long time its work would have been perfected, if there had been no
interruption. But there was ; for about this time the " slave " who
had made the speech denouncing England's laws, appeared on the
scene and put an end to the enterprise, and stripped off the poultice
and bandage.

The king wanted to borrow his deliverer's cudgel aad warm the
jackets of the two rascals on the spot ; but the man said no, it would
bring trouble — leave the matter till night; the whole tribe being
together, then, the outside world would not venture to interfere or
interrupt. He marched the party back to camp and reported the affair
to the Ruffler, who listened, pondered, and then decided that the king
should not be again detailed to beg, since it was plain he was worthy
of something higher and better — wherefore, on the spot he promoted
him from the mendicant rank and appointed him to steal !

Hugo was overjoyed. He had already tried to make the king
steal, and failed ; but there would be no more trouble of that sort,
now, for of course the king would not dream of defying a distinct
command delivered directly from headquarters. So he planned a raid
for that very afternoon, purposing to get the king in the law's grip in
the course of it ; and to do it, too, with such ingenious strategy, that
it should seem to be accidental and unintentional ; for the King of the
Game-Cocks was popular, now, and the gang might not deal over-
gently with an unpopular member who played so serious a treachery
upon him as the delivering him over to the common enemy, the law.

Very well. All in good time Hugo strolled off to a neighboring

274

A VICTIM OF TREACIIERY

village Avith his prey ; and the two drifted slowly up and down one
street after another, the one watching sharply for a sure chance to
achieve his evil purpose, and the other watching as sharply for a
chance to dart away and get free of his infamous captivity forever.
Both threw away some tolerably fair-looking opportunities ; for

both, in their secret hearts, were resolved
to make 'absolutel}- sure work this time,
and neither meant to allow his fevered
desires to seduce him into any venture

that had much un-
certainty about it.

Hugo's chance
came first. For at
last a woman ap-
proached Avho car-
ried a fat package
of some sort in a
basket. Hugo's eyes
sparkled with sinful
pleasure as he said
to himself, " Breath
o' my life, an' I can but put that upon
him, 'tis good-den and God keep thee,
Kinec of the Game-Cccks ! " He waited
and watched — outwardly patient, but
inwardly consuming with excitement —

-TAKRY HERE TILL I COME AGAIN." ^iH thc womau liad passcd by, and the

time was ripe ; then said, in a low voice —

"Tarry here till I come again," and darted stealthily after the
prey.

Thc king's heart was fdled with joy — lie could make his escape,
now, if Hugo's quest only carried him far enough away.

A VICTIM OF TBEACnERY. 276

But he was to have no such luck. Hugo crept behind the woman,
snatched the package, and came running back, wrapping it in an old
piece of blanket which he carried on his arm. The hue and cry was
raised in a moment, by the woman, who knew her loss by the light-
ening of her burden, although she had not seen the pilfering done.
Hugo thrust the bundle into the king's hands Avithout halting,
saying, —

" Now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry ' Stop thief ! ' but
mind yc lead them astray ! "

The next moment Hugo turned a corner and darted down a
crooked alley, — and in another moment or two he lounged into view
again, looking innocent and indifferent, and took up a position behind
a post to watch results.

The insulted king threw the bundle on the ground ; and the
blanket fell away from it just as the woman arrived, with an aug-
menting crowd at her heels ; she seized the king's wrist Avith one
hand, snatched up her bundle with the other, and began to pour out
a tirade of abuse upon the boy while he struggled, without success,
to free himself from her grip.

Hugo had seen enough — his enemy was captured and the law
would get him, now — so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling,
and Avended camp wards, framing a judicious version of the matter to
give to the Ruffler's crew as he strode along.

The king continued to struggle in the woman's strong grasp, and
now and then cried out, in vexation —

" Unhand me, thou foolish creature ; it was not I that bereaved
thee of thy paltry goods."

The crowd closed around, threatening the king and calling him
names ; a braAvny blacksmith in leather apron, and sleeves rolled to
his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he would trounce him well,
for a lesson ; but just then a long sword flashed in the air and fell

276

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY.

with convincing force upon the man's arm, flat-side clown, the fantastic
owner of it remarking pleasantly at the same time —

" Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill blood and

"the king sprang to his deliverer's side."'

uncharitable words. This is matter for the law's consideration, not
private and unofficial handling. Loose thy hold from the boy, good-
wife."

The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a glance, then
went muttering away, rubbing his arm ; the woman released the boy's

A VICTIM OF TREACHERY, 277

wrist reluctantly ; the crowd eyed the stranger unlovingly, but pru-
dently closed their mouths. The king sprang to his deliverer's side,
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, exclaiming —

" Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good season, now,
Sir Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!"

CHAPTER XXIII,

THE PRINCE A PRISONER.

Hendon forced back a smile, and bent down and whispered in the
king's ear —

" Softly, softly, my prince, wag thy tongue warily — nay, suffer it
not to wag at all. Trust in me — all shall go well in the end." Then
he added, to himself : " Sir Miles ! Bless me, I had totally forgot I
was a knight ! Lord how marvellous a thing it is, the grip his
memory doth take upon his quaint and crazy fancies ! . . . An empty
and foolish title is miije, and yet it is something to have deserved it,
for I think it is more honor to be held worthy to be a spectre-knight
in his Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows, than to be held base enough
to be an earl in some of the real kingdoms of this world."

The crowd fell apart to admit a constable, who approached and
was about to lay his hand upon the king's shoulder, when Hendon
said —

" Gently, good friend, withhold your hand — he shall go peaceably ;
I am responsible for that. Lead on, we will follow."

The officer led, with the woman and her bundle ; Miles and the
king followed after, with the crowd at their heels. The King was
inclined to rebel ; but Hendon said to him in a low voice —

"Reflect, sire — your laws are the wholesome breath of your own
royalty ; shall their source resist them, yet require the branches to
respect them ? Apparently one of these laws has been broken ; when*

281

282

THE rillNVE A PRISON Ell.

the king is on his throne again, can it ever grieve liim to remember
that when he was seemingly a private person he loyally sunk the
kino- in the citizen and submitted to its authority?"

"Thou art right; say no more; thou shalt see that whatsoever

the king of England
requires a subject to
suffer under the law,
he will himself suffer
while he holdeth the
station of a subject."
When the woman
was called upon to
|i;;'| testify before the jus-
tice of the peace, she
swore that the small
prisoner at the bar
was the person who
had committed the
theft; there was none
able to show the con-
trary, so the king
stood convicted. The
bundle was now un-
rolled, and when the
contents proved to be
a plump little dressed
pig, the judge looked
troubled, whilst Hendon turned pale, and his body was thrilled with
an electric shiver of dismay ; but the king remained unmoved, pro-
tected by his ignorance. The judge meditated, during an ominous
pause, then turned to the woman, with the question —

GENTLY, GOOD FKIEND."

THE PRINCE A PRISONER. 283

" What dost thou hold this property to be worth ? "

The woman courtesied and replied — ~

" Three shillings and eightpence, your worship — I could not abate
a penny and set forth the value honestly."

The justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the crowd, then
nodded to the constable and said —

" Clear the court and close the doors."

It was done. None remained but the two officials, the accused,
the accuser, and Miles Hendon, This latter was rigid and colorless,
and on his forehead big drops of cold sweat gathered, broke and
blended together, and trickled down his face. The judge turned to
the woman again, and said, in a compassionate voice —

" 'Tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard by hunger,
for these be grievous times for the unfortunate ; mark you, he hath
not an evil face — but when hunger drivcth — Good woman! dost
know that when one steals a thing above the value of thirteen pence
ha'penny the law saith ho shall liang for it ! "

The little king started, wide-eyed with consternation, but con-
trolled himself and held his peace ; but not so the woman. She sprang
to her feet, shaking with fright, and cried out —

" O, good lack, what have I done ! God-a-mercy, I would not hang
the poor thing for the whole world ! Ah, save me from this, your
worship — what shall I do, what can I do?"

The justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said —

" Doubtless it is allowable to revise the value, since it is not yet
writ upon the record."

" Then in God's name call the pig eightpence, and heaven bless
the day that freed my conscience of this awesome thing ! "

Miles Hendon forgot all decorum in his delight ; and surprised the
king and wounded his dignity, by throwing his arms around him and
hugging him. The woman made her grateful adieux and started away

284

THE PRINCE A PRISONER.

with her pig; and when the constable opened the door for her, he
followed her out into the narrow hall. The justice proceeded to write
in his record book. Hendon, always alert, thought he would like to
know why the officer followed the woman out ; so he slipped softly

into the dusky hall and listened.
He heard a conversation to this
effect —

"It is a fat pig, and promises
good eating ; I will buy it of thee ;
here is the eightpence.

" Eightpence, indeed ! Thou'lt

do no such thing. It cost me three

shillings and eightpence, good honest coin of the last reign, that

old Harry that's just dead ne'er touched nor tampered with. A fig

for thy eightpence ! "

"Stands the wind in that quarter? Thou wast under oath, and so

THE PEINCE A PRISONER. 285

swore falsely when thou saidst the value was but eightpence. Come
straightway back with me before his worship, and answer for the
crime! — and then the lad will hang."

" There, there, dear heart, say no more, I am content. Give me
the eightpence, and hold thy peace about the matter."

The woman went off crying; Hendon slipped back into the court
room, and the constable presently followed, after hiding his prize in
some convenient place. The justice wrote a while longer, then read
the king a wise and kindly lecture, and sentenced him to a short
imprisonment in the common jail, to be followed by a public flogging.
The astounded king opened his mouth and was probably going to
order the good judge to be beheaded on the spot ; but he caught a
warning sign from Hendon, and succeeded in closing his mouth again
before he lost any thing out of it. Hendon took him by the hand,
now, made reverence to the justice, and the two departed in the wake
of the constable toward the jail. The moment the street was reached,
the inflamed monarch halted, snatched away his hand, and exclaimed —
" Idiot, dost imagine I will enter a common jail alive f "
Hendon bent down and said, somewhat sharply —
" Will you trust in me ? Peace ! and forbear to worsen our
chances with dangerous speech. What God wills, will happen ; thou
canst not hurry it, thou canst not alter it ; therefore wait, and be
patient — 'twill be time enow to rail or rejoice when what is to
happen has happened." ^

1 See Notes to Chapter 23, at end of volume.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ESCAPE.

The short winter day was nearly ended. The streets were
deserted, save for a few random stragglers, and these hurried straight
along, with the intent look of people who were only anxious to accom-
plish their errands as quickly as possible and then snugly house them-
selves from the rising wind and the gathering twilight. They looked
neither to the right nor to the left ; they paid no attention to our
party, they did not even seem to see them. Edward the Sixth won-
dered if the spectacle of a king on his way to jail had ever encountered
such marvellous indifference before. By and b}^ the constable arrived
at a deserted market-square and proceeded to cross it. When he
had reached the middle of it, Hendon laid his hand upon his arm, and
said in a low voice —

" Bide a moment, good sir, there is none in hearing, and I would
say a word to thee."

" My duty forbids it, sir ; prithee hinder me not, the night

comes on."

" Stay, nevertheless, for the matter concerns thee nearly. Turn
thy back a moment and seem not to see : let this poor lad escape.''^

" This to me, sir ! I arrest thee in " —

"Nay, be not too hasty. See thou be careful and commit no
foolish error" — then he shut his voice down to a whisper, and said

289

290

THE ESCAPE.

in the man's ear — " the pig thou hast purchased for eightpence may
cost thee thy neck, man ! "

The poor constable, taken by surprise, was speechless, at first, then

found his tongue and fell to blustering and threatening ; but Hendon was

tranquil, and waited with patience till his breath was spent ; then said —

" I have a liking to thee, friend, and would not willingly see thee

come to harm. Ob-
serve, I heard it all —
every word. I will
prove it to thee." Then
he repeated the conver-
sation which the officer
and the woman had had
together in the hall,
word for word, and
ended with —

'•' There — have I set
it forth correctly?
Should not I be able
to set it forth correctly
before the judge, if oc-
casion required ? "
The man was dumb with fear and distress, for a moment ; then lie
rallied and said with forced lightness —

" 'Tis making a mighty matter indeed, out of a jest ; I but plagued
the woman for mine amusement."

" Kept you the woman's pig for amusement ? "
The man answered sharply —

"Nought else, good sir — I tell thee 'twas but a jest."
"I do begin to believe thee," said Hendon, with a perplexing mix-
ture of mockery and half-conviction in his tone; "but tarry thou here;

THE PIG MAY COST THY NECK, MAN.

THE ESCAPE. 291

a moment whilst I run and ask his worship — for nathless, he being a
man experienced in hiw, in jests, in " —

He was moving away, still talking ; the constable hesitated,
fidgetted, spat out an oath or two, then cried out —

" Hold, hold, good sir — prithee wait a little — the judge ! why-
man, he hath no more sympathy with a jest than hath a dead corpse !
— come, and we will speak further. Ods body ! I seem to be in evil
case — and all for an innocent and thoughtless pleasantry. I am a
man of family ; and my wife and little ones — List to reason, good
your worship : what wouldst thou of me ? "

" Only that thou be blind and dumb and paralytic whilst one may
count a hundred thousand — counting slowly," said Henclon, with the
expression of a man who asks but a reasonable favor, and that a very
little one.

"It is my destruction !" said the constable despairingly. "Ah, be
reasonable, good sir ; only look at this matter, on all its sides, and see
how mere a jest it is — how manifestly and how plainly it is so. And
even if one granted it were not a jest, it is a fault so small that e'en
the grimmest penalty it could call forth would be but a rebuke and
warning from the judge's lips."

Hendon replied with a solemnity which chilled the air about him —

" This jest of thine hath a name, in law, — wot you what it is ? "

" I knew it not ! Peradventure I have been unwise. I never
dreamed it had a name — ah, sweet heaven, I thought it was original."

" Yes, it hath a name. In the law this crime is called No7i compos
mentis lex talionis sic transit gloria MundV^

" Ah, my God ! "

"And the penalty is death!"

" God be merciful to me, a sinner ! "

" By advantage taken of one in fault, in dire peril, and at thy
mercy, thou hast seized goods worth above thirteen pence ha'penny,

292

THE ESCAPE.

paying but a trifle for tlie same ; and this, in the eye of the law, is

constructive barratry, misprision of treason,
malfeasance in office, ad homiyievi expurgatis

m statu quo — and the
penalty is death by the
halter, without ransom,
commutation, or benefit
of clergy."

"Bear me up, bear
me up, sweet sir, my
legs do fail me ! Be
thou merciful — spare
me this doom, and I will
turn my back and see
nought that shall hap-
pen."

" Good ! now thou'rt
wise and reasonable.
And thou'lt restore the
pig?"

"I will, I will in-
deed — nor ever touch
another, though heaven
send it and an arch-
angel fetch it. Go — I
am blind for thy sake —
I see nothing. I will say thou didst break in and wrest the prisoner
from my hands by force. It is but a crazy, ancient door — I will
batter it down myself betwixt midnight and the morning."

" Do it, good soul, no harm will come of it ; the judge hath a loving
charity for this poor lad, and will shed no tears and break no jailer's
bones for his escape."

BEAK ME UP, BEAK ME UP, SWEET SIk!"

CHAPTER XXV.

HENDON HALL.

As soon as Plendon and the king were out of sight of the con-
stable, his majesty was instructed to hurry to a certain phice outside
the town, and wait there, whilst Hendon should go to the inn and
settle his account. Half an liour later the two friends were blithely
jogging eastward on Hendon's sorry steeds. The king was warm and
comfortable, now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the
second-hand suit which Hendon had bought on London Bridge.

Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy ; he judged
that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal measures of sleep
would be bad for his crazed mind ; whilst rest, regularity, and moder-
ate exercise would be pretty sure to hasten its cure ; he longed to
see the stricken intellect made well again and its diseased visions
driven out of the tormented little head ; therefore he resolved to move
by easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been banished,
instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience and hurrying along
night and day.

When he and the king had journeyed about ten miles, they
reached a considerable village, and halted there for the night, at a
good inn. The former relations were resumed ; Hendon stood behind
the king's chair, while he dined, and waited upon him ; undressed him
when he was ready for bed ; then took the floor for his own quarters,
and slept athwart the door, rolled up in a blanket.

295

•29G

IlENDON HALL.

The next day, and the day after, they jogged lazily along talking'
over the adventures they had met since their separation, and mightily
enjoying each other's narratives. Hendon detailed all his wide wan-
derings in search of the king, and described how the archangel had
led liini a fool's journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the
hut, finally, when he found he could

JOGGING EASTWARD ON SORRY STEEDS.

— the old man went into the bedchamber and came staggering back
looking broken-hearted, and saying he had expected to find that the
boy had returned and lain down in there to rest, but it was not so.
Hendon had waited at the hut all day ; hope of the king's return died
out, then, and he departed upon the quest again.

HEN DON HALL.

297

" And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your highness came
hot back," said Hendon ; " I saw it in his face."

"Marry I will never doubt thatT'' said the King — and then told
his own story ; after which, Hendon was sorry he had not destroyed
the archangel.

During the last day of the trip, Hendon's spirits were soaring.
His tongue ran constantly. He talked about

his old father, .,g^^f^^-^ and his brother Arthur, and

told of many '^'^'^Uii^xMB^^^J^^k things which illustrated their
high and gen- Ik-i^ .-; 'jiiL erous characters; lie went

"theke is the village, my prince!"

into loving frenzies over his Edith, and was so gladhearted that he was
even able to say some gentle and brotherly things about Hugh. He
dwelt a deal on the coming meeting at Hendon Hall ; what a surprise
it would be to everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and

delight there Avould be.

298 IlENDON HALL.

It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, and the
road led through broad pasture Lands whose receding expanses, marked
with gentle elevations and depressions, suggested the swelling and
subsidino- undulations of the sea. In the afternoon the returning-
prodigal made constant deflections from his course to see if by ascend-
ing some hillock he might not pierce tlfe distance and catoh a glimpse
of his home. At last he was successful, and cried out excitedly —

" There is the village, my prince, and there is the Hall close by I
You may see the towers from here ; and that wood there — that is my
father's park. Ah, 7ioiv thou'lt know what state and grandeur be !
A house with seventy rooms — think of that I — and seven and twenty
servants ! A brave lodging for such as we, is it not so ? Come, let us
speed — my impatience will not brook further delay."

All possible hurry was made ; still, it was after three o'clock before
the village was reached. The travellers scampered through it, Hen-
don's tongue going all the time. "Here is the church — covered
with the same ivy — none gone, none added." "Yonder is the inn,
the old Red Lion, — and yonder is the marketplace." "Here is the
Maypole, and here the pump — nothing is altered ; nothing but the
people, at any rate ; ten years make a change in people ; some of
these I seem to know, but none know me." So his chat ran on.
The end of the village was soon reached ; then the travellers struck
into a crooked, narrow road, walled in with tall hedges, and hurried
briskly along it for a half mile, then passed into a vast flower garden
through an imposing gateway whose huge stone pillars bore sculp-
tured armorial devices. A noble mansion was before them.

" Welcome to Hendon Hall, my king ! " exclaimed Miles. " Ah,
'tis a great day ! My father and my brother, and the lady Edith
will be so mad with joy that they will have eyes and tongue for none
but me in the first transports of the meeting, and so thoult seem but
coldly welcomed — but mind it not; 'twill soon seem otherwise; for

HEM DON 11 ALL.

299

when I say thou art my ward, and tell them how costly is my love for
thee, thou'lt see them take thee to their breasts for Miles Hendon's
sake, and make their house and hearts thy home forever after ! "

The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before the great
door, helped the king down, then took him by the hand and rushed
within. A few steps
brought him to a spa-
cious apartment ; he en-
tered, seated the king
with more hurry than

" ' EMBRACE ME, HUGH,' HE ClUED."

ceremony, then ran toward a young man who sat at a writing table
in front of a generous fire of logs.

" Embrace me, Hugh," he cried, " and say thou'rt glad I am come
again ! and call our father, for home is not home till I shall touch his
hand, and see his face, and hear his voice once more ! "

But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary surprise,
and bent a grave stare upon the intruder — a stare which indicated
somewhat of offended dignity, at first, then changed, in response to
some inward thought or purpose, to an expression of marvelling curi-

;]00 HEN DON HALL.

osity, mixed with a real or assumed compassion. Presently he said,
ill a mild voice —

" Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger ; doubtless thou hast suf-
fered privations and rude buffetings at the world's hands ; thy looks
and dress betoken it. Whom dost thou take me to be?"

" Take thee ? Prithee for whom else than whom thou art ? I take
thee to be Hugh Hendon," said Miles, sharply.

The other continued, in the same soft tone —

" And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be ? "

" Imagination hath nought to do with it I Dost thou pretend thou
knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hendon ? "

An expression of joleased surprise flitted across Hugh's face, and
he exclaimed —

" What ! thou art not jesting ? can the dead come to life ? God l)e
praised if it be so ! Our [)oor lost boy restored to our arms after all
these cruel years ! Ah, it seems too good to be true, it is too good
to be true — I charge thee, have pity, do not trifle with me ! Quick —
come to the lio-ht — let me scan thee Avell ! "

He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, and began
to devour him from head to foot witli his eyes, turning him this way
and that, and stepping briskly around him and about him to prove
him from all points of view ; whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow
with gladness, smiled, laughed, and kept nodding his head and
saying —

" Go on, brother, go on, and fear not ; thou'lt find nor limb nor
feature that cannot bide the test. Scour and scan me to thy content,
my good old Hugh — I am indeed thy old Miles, thy same old Miles,
thy lost brother, is't not so ? Ah, "tis a great day — I said 'twas a
great day ! Give me thy hand, give me thy cheek — lord, I am like to
die of very joy ! "

He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but Hugh put

II EN DON HALL.

301

up his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin mournfully upon his
breast, saying with emotion —

" Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this grievous
disappointment ! "

Miles, amazed, could not speak, for a moment ; then he found his
tongue, and cried out —

HUGH PUT UP HIS HAND IN DISSENT,

" What disappointment ? Am I not thy brother ? "

Hugh shook his head sadly, and said —

" I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may find the
resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear me the letter
spoke but too truly."

" What letter ? "

" One that came from over sea, some six or seven years ago. It
said my brother died in battle."

802 HENDON HALL.

'• It was a lie ! Call thy father — he will know iue."

" One may not call the dead."

" Dead?" Miles's voice was subdued, and his lips trembled. " My
father dead ! — O, this is heavy news. Half my new joy is withered
now. Prithee let me see my brother Arthur — he will know me ; he
will know me and console me."

"■ He, also, is dead."

" God be merciful to me, a stricken man ! Gone, — both gone — -
the worthy taken and the worthless spared, in me ! Ah ! I crave your
mercy ! — do not say the lady Edith "" —

"Is dead? No, she lives."

" Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again ! Speed thee,
brother — let her come to me ! An' she say I am not myself, — but
she will not ; no, no, she will know me, I were a fool to doubt it.
Bring her — bring the old servants ; they, too, will know me."

" All are gone but five — Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard and
Margaret."

So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing, a while, then
began to walk the floor, muttering —

" The five arch villains have survived the two-and-twenty leal and
honest — 'tis an odd thing."

He continued walking back and forth, muttering to himself; he
had forgotten the king entirely. By and by his majesty said gravely,
and with a touch of genuine compassion, though the words themselves
were capable of being interpreted ironically —

" Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in the world
whose identity is denied, and whose claims are derided. Thou hast
company."

" Ah, my king," cried Hendon, coloring slightly, " do not thou
condemn me — wait, and thou shalt see. I am no impostor — she
will say it ; you shall hear it from the sweetest lips in England. I an

HEN DON HALL.

303

impostor? Why I know this old ]i;ill, these pictures of my ancestors,
find all these things that are al)out ns, as a oliild knoweth its own
nursery. Here was I horn and hred, my lord ; I speak the truth ; I
Avould not deceive thee; and sliould none else believe, I pray thee do
not fh<ni doubt me — I could not bear it."

" A BEAUTIFUL LADY, KICHLY CLOTHED, FOLLOWED HUGH."

" I do not doubt thee," said the king, with a childlike simplicity
and faith.

" I thank thee out of my heart ! " exclaimed Hendon, Avith a
fervency which showed that he was touched. The king added, Avith
the same gentle simplicity —

"Dost thou doubt me?''

A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was grateful that

804 JIENDON HALL..

the door opened to admit J I ugh, at tliat moment, and saved him the
necessity of replying.

A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and after her came
several liveried servants. The lady walked slowly, with her head
bowed and her eyes fixed upon the floor. The face was unspeakably
sad. Miles Hendon sprang forward, crying out —

" O, my Edith, my darling " —

But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the lady —

'•'• Look upon him. Do you know him ? "

At the sound of Miles's voice the woman had started, sliglitly, and
her cheeks had flushed ; she was trembling, now. She stood still,
during an impressive pause of several moments ; then slowly lifted
up her head and looked into Hendon's eyes with a stony and fright-
ened gaze ; the blood sank out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing
remained but the gray pallor of death ; then she said, in a voice as
dead as the face, "I know him not! " and turned, with a moan and a
stifled sob, and tottered out of the room.

Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face with his
hands. After a pause, his brother said to the servants —

" You have observed him. Do you know him? "

They shook their heads ; then the master said —

" The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some mistake.
You have seen that my wife knew you not."

" Thy ivife ! " In an instant Hugh was pinned to the wall, with an
iron grip about his throat. " O, thou fox-hearted slave, I see it all !
Thou'st writ the lying letter thyself, and my stolen bride and goods
are its fruit. There — now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honorable
soldiership with the slaying of so pitiful a manikin ! "

Hugh, red-faced, and almost suffocated, reeled to the nearest chair,
and commanded the servants to seize and bind the murderous stranger.
They hesitated, and one of them said —

" He is armed. Sir Hugh, and^ we are weaponless."

HENBON HALL.

805

" Armed ? What of it, and ye so many ? Upon liim, I say ! "
But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and added —
" Ye know me of old — I have not changed ; come on, an' it like

you."

This reminder did not hearten the servants much ; they still held

back.

" Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and guard the

doors, whilst I send one to fetch the watch ; " said

Hugh. He turned, at the f^ threshold, and said to Miles,

IlUOir WAS PINNED TO THE WALL.

'"■ You'll find it to your advantage to offend not with nseless endeavors
at escape."

" Escape ? Spare thyself discomfort, an' that is all that troubles
thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall and all its belong-
ings. He will remain — doubt it not."

CHAPTER XXVI.

DISOWNED.

The king sat musing a few moments, then looked up and said —

" 'Tis strange — most strange. I cannot account for it."

" No, it is not strange, my liege. I know him, and this conduct is
but natural. He was a rascal from his birth."

" O, I spake not of him^ Sir Miles."

" Not of him ? Then of what ? What is it that is strange ? "

" That the king is not missed."

"How? Which? I doubt I do not understand."

" Indeed ? Doth it not strike you as being passing strange that the
land is not filled with couriers and proclamations describing my person
and making search for me ? Is it no matter for commotion and dis-
tress that the head of the State is gone ? — that I am vanished away
and lost?"

" Most true, my king, I had forgot." Then Hendon sighed, and
muttered to himself, " Poor ruined mind — still busy with its pathetic
dream."

" But I have a plan that shall right us both. I will write a paper,

in three tongues — Latin, Greek and English — and thou shalt haste

away with it to London in the morning. Give it to none but my

uncle, the lord Hertford ; when he shall see it, he will know and say

I wrote it. Then he will send for me."

" Might it not be best, my prince, that we wait, here, until I prove

309

310

DISOWNED.

myself and make my rights secure to my domains? I should be so
much the better able then to " —
. The king interrupted him imperiously —

" Peace ! What are thy paltry domains, thy trivial interests, con-
trasted with matters which concern the
weal of a nation and the integrity of
a throne ! " Then he added, in a /
gentle voice, as if he were sorry /

" OBEY, AND HAVE NO FEAK.

for his severity, " Obey, and have no fear ; I will right thee, I will
make thee whole — yes, more than whole. I shall remember, and
requite."

So saying, he took the pen, and set himself to work. Hendon
contemplated him lovingly, a while, then said to himself —

" An' it were dark, I should think it was a king that spoke ; there's

DISOWNED. 311

no denying it, when the humor's upon him he doth thunder and lighten
like your true king — now where got he that trick ? See him scribble
and scratch away contentedly at his meaningless pot-hooks, fancying
them to be Latin and Greek — and except my wit shall serve me with
a lucky device for diverting him from his purpose, I shall be forced to
pretend to post away to-morrow on this wild errand he hath invented
for me."

The next moment Sir Miles's thoughts had gone back to the recent
episode. So absorbed was he in his musings, that when the king pres-
ently handed him the i3aper which he had been writing, he received it
and pocketed it without being conscious of the act. "How marvel-
lous strange she acted," he muttered. "I think she knew me — and I
think she did 7iot know me. These opinions do conflict, I perceive it
plainly; I cannot reconcile them, neither can I, by argument, dismiss
either of the two, or even jiersuade one to outweigh the other. The
matter standeth simply thus : she must have known my face, my figure,
my voice, for how could it be otherwise ? yet she said she knew me
not, and that is proof perfect, for she cannot lie. But stop — I think
I begin to see. Peradventure he hath influenced her — commanded
her — compelled her, to lie. That is the solution! The riddle is
unriddled. She seemed dead with fear — yes, she was under his com-
pulsion. I will seek her ; I will find her ; now that he is away, she
will speak her true mind. She will remember the old times when we
were little playfellows together, and this will soften her heart, and she
will no more betray me, but will confess me. There is no treacherous
blood in her — no, she was always honest and true. She has loved me,
in those old days — this is my security ; for whom one has loved, one
cannot betray."

He stepped eagerly toward the door ; at that moment it opened,
and the lady Edith entered. She was very pale, but she walked with
a firm step, and her carriage was full of grace and gentle dignity.
Her face was as sad as before.

312 DISOWNED.

Miles sprang forward, with a happy confidence, to meet her, but
she checked him with a hardl}' perceptible gesture, and he stopped
where he was. She seated herself, and asked liim to do likewise.
Thus simply did she take the sense of old-comradeshij) out of him, and
transform him into a stranger and a guest. The surprise of it, the
bewildering unexpectedness of it, made him begin to question, for a
moment, if he icas the person he was pretending to be, after all. The
lady Edith said —

" Sir, I have come to warn you. The mad cannot be persuaded
out of their delusions, perchance ; but doubtless they may be per-
suaded to avoid perils. I think this dream of yours hath the seeming
of honest truth to you, and therefore is not criminal — but do not
tarry here with it ; for here it is dangerous." She looked steadily into
Miles's face, a moment, then added, impressively, " It is the moxQ
dangerous for that you are much like what our lost lad must have
grown to be, if he had lived."

" Heavens, madam, but I am he ! "

" I truly think you think it, sir. I question not 3'our honesty in
that — I but warn you, that is all. My husband is master in this
region ; his power hath hardly any limit ; the peojDle i)rosper or starve,
as he wills. If j'ou resembled not the man whom 3-011 profess to be,
my husband might bid you pleasure yourself with your dream in
peace ; but trust me, I know him well, I know what he will do ; he
will say to all, that you are but a mad impostor, and straightway all
will echo him." She bent upon Miles that same steady look once
more, and added : " If you were Miles Hendon, and he knew it and all
the region knew it — consider what I am saying, weigh it well — you
would stand in the same peril, your punishment would be no less sure ;
he would deny you and denounce you, and none would be bold enough
to give you countenance."

" Most truly I believe it," said Miles, bitterly. " The power that

BISO WNED.

313

can command one life-long friend to betray and disown another, and
be obeyed, may well look to be obeyed in quarters where bread and

life are on the stake and no cobweb ties
of loyalty and honor are concerned."
A faint tinge appeared for a moment
in the lady's cheek, and she
-z-=:— dropped lier eyes to the

floor ; but her voice be-

" AM I MILES HEXDON ? "

trayed no emotion when she proceeded —

" I have warned you, I must still warn you, to go hence. This
man will destroy you, else. He is a tyrant who knows no pity. I,
who am his fettered slave, know this. Poor Miles, and Arthur, and
my dear guardian, Sir Richard, are free of him, and at rest — better
that you were with them than that you bide here in the clutches of

314 DISOWN ED.

this miscreant. Your pretensions are a menace to his title and pos-
sessions ; you have assaulted him in his own house — you are ruined
if 3"ou stay. Go — do not hesitate. If you lack money, take this
purse, I beg of you, and bribe the servants to let you pass. O be
warned, poor soul, and escape while you may."

Miles declined the purse with a gesture, and rose up and stood
before her.

" Grant me one thing," he said. " Let your eyes rest upon mine,
so that I may see if they be steady. There — now answer me. Am
I Miles Hendon?"

" No. I know you not."

"Swear it!"

The answer Avas low, but distinct —

"I swear."

" O, this passes belief!"

" Fly ! Why will you waste the precious time ? Fly, and save
yourself."

At that moment the officers burst into the room and a violent
struggle began ; but Hendon was soon overpowered and dragged away.
The king was taken, also, and both were bound, and led to prison.

CHAPTER XXVII

IN PRISON.

The cells were all crowded ; so the two friends were chained in a
large room where persons charged with trifling offences were commonly
kept. They had company, for there were some twenty manacled and
fettered prisoners here, of both sexes and of varying ages, — an obscene
and noisy gang. The king chafed bitterly over the stupendous indig-
nity tlius put upon his royalty, but Hendon was moody and taciturn.
He was pretty thoroughly bewildered. He had come home, a jubilant
prodigal, expecting to find everybody wild with joy over his return ;
and instead had got the cold shoulder and a jail. The promise and the
fulfilment differed so widely, that the effect was stunning ; he could
not decide whether it was most tragic or most grotesque. He felt
much as a man might who had danced blithely out to enjoy a rainbow,
and got struck by lightning.

But gradually his confused and tormenting thoughts settled down
into some sort of order, and then his mind centred itself upon Edith.
He turned her conduct over, and examined it in all lights, but he could
not make any thing satisfactory out of it. Did she know him ? — or
didn't she know him ? It was a perplexing puzzle, and occupied him a
long time ; but he ended, finally, with the conviction that she did know
him, and had repudiated him for interested reasons. He wanted to
load her name with curses now ; but this name had so long been sacred
to him that he found he could not bring his tongue to profane it.

317

318

IN PBISOJSf.

Wrapped in prison blankets of a soiled and tattered condition, Hen-
don and the king passed a troubled night. For a bribe the jailer had
furnished liquor to some of the prisoners ; singing of ribald songs, fight-
ing, shouting, and carousiiig, was the natural consequence. At last, a
while after midnight, a man attacked a woman and nearly killed her by

beating her over the head
^r^ i with his manacles before the

jailer could come to the res-
cue. The iailer
restored peace
by giving the
man a sound
clubbing about
the head and
s h o u 1 d e r s —
then the ca-
rousing ceased ;
and after that,
all had an op-
portunity to
sleep who did
not mind the
annoyance of the moanings and groanings of the two wounded people.

During the ensuing week, the days and nights were of a monoto-
nous sameness, as to events ; men whose faces Hendon remembered
more or less distinctly, came, by day, to gaze at the " impostor " and
repudiate and insult him ; and by night the carousing and brawling
went on, with symmetrical regularity. However, there was a change of
incident at last. The jailer brought in an old man, and said to him —
" The villain is in this room — cast thy old eyes about and see if
thou canst say which is he."

CHAINED IN A LARGE
EOOM."

IN PRISON. 319

Hendon glanced up, and experienced a pleasant sensation for the
first time since he had been in the jail. He said to himself, " This is
Blake Andrews, a servant all his life in my father's family — a good
honest soul, with a right heart in his breast. That is, formerly. But
none are true, now ; all are liars. This man will know me — and will
deny me, too, like the rest."

The old man gazed around the room, glanced at each face in turn,
and finally said —

" I see none here but paltry knaves, scum o' the streets. Which
is he?"

The jailer laughed.

" Here," he said ; " scan this big animal, and grant me an opinion."

The old man approached, and looked Hendon over, long and ear-
nestly, then shook his head and said —

" Marry, this is no Hendon — nor ever was ! "

" Right ! Thy old eyes are sound yet. An' I .were Sir Hugh, I
would take the shabby carle and " —

The jailer finished by lifting himself a-tip-toe with an imaginary
lialter, at the same time making a gurgling noise in his throat sugges-
tive of suffocation. The old man said, vindictively —

" Let him bless God an' he fare no worse. An' / had the handlino;
o' the villain, he should roast, or I am no true man ! "

Tlie jailer laughed a pleasant hyena laugh, and said —

" Give him a piece of thy mind, old man — they all do it. Thou'lt
find it good diversion."

Then he sauntered toward his ante-room and disappeared. The old
man dropped upon his knees and whispered — -

" God be thanked, thou'rt come again, my master ! I believed thou
wert dead these seven years, and lo, here thou art alive I I knew thee
the moment I saw thee ; and main hard work it was to keep a stony
countenance and seem to see none here but tuppenny knaves and rub-

320

IN PRISON.

bish o' the streets. I am old and poor, Sir Miles ; but say the word
and I will go forth and proclaim the truth though I be strangled
for it."'

"No," said Hendon; "thou shalt not. It would ruin thee, and yet

"the old man looked hendon over."

help but little in my cause. But I thank thee ; for thou hast given me
back somewhat of my lost faith in my kind."

The old servant became very valuable to Hendon and the king ; for
he dropped in several times a day to " abuse " the former, and always
smuggled in a few delicacies to help out the prison bill of fare ; he also

IN PBISON.

821

fnriiislied llic current news. Hendon reserved the daijilies for the
king ; without them his majesty might not have survived, for he was
not able to eat the coarse and wretched food provided by the jailer.
Andrews was obliged to confine himself to brief visits, in ord-cr to avoid
suspicion; but he managed to impart a fair degree of information each
time — information delivered in a low voice,
for Hendon's benefit, and interlarded Avith
insulting epithets de-
livered in a louder
voice, for the benefit
of other hearers.

So, little by little,
the story of the family
came out. Arthur had
l)een dead six years.
This loss, with the
absence of news from
Hendon, impaired the
father's health ; he be-
lieved he was (yoinsr to

INFOKMATION DELIVERED IN A I-OW VOICE.

die, and he wished to

see Hugh and Edith settled in life before he passed away ; but Edith
begged hard for delay, hoping for Miles's return ; then the letter
came which brought the news of Miles's death ; the shock prostrated
Sir Richard ; he believed his end was very near, and he and Hugh
insisted upon the marriage ; Edith begged for and obtained a month's
respite ; then another, and finally a third ; the marriage then took
place, by the death-bed of Sir Richard. It had not proved a happy
one. It was whispered about the country that shortly after the nup-
tials the bride found among her husband's papers several rough and
incomplete drafts of the fatal letter, and had accused him of pre-

S22 m PBisoN.

cipitatiiig the marriage — and Sir Richard's death, too — by a wicked
forgery. Tales of cruelty to the lady Edith and the servants were to
1)6 heard on all hands; and since the father's death Sir Hugh had
thrown off all soft disguises and become a pitiless master toward all
who in any way depended upon him and his domains for bread.

There was a bit of Andrews's gossip which the king listened to
with a lively interest —

" There is rumor that the king is mad. But in charity forbear
to say / mentioned it, for 'tis death to speak of it, they say."

His majesty glared at the old man and said —

" The king is 7iot mad, good man — and thou'lt find it to thy
advantage to busy thyself with matters that nearer concern thee than
this seditious prattle."

"What doth the lad mean?" said Andrews, surprised at this brisk
assault from such an unexpected quarter. Henclon gave him a sign,
and he did not pursue his question, but went on with his budget —

" The late king is to be buried at Windsor in a day or two —
the 16th of the month, — and the new king will be crowned at West-
minster the 20th."

" Methinks they must needs find him first," muttered his majesty ;
then added, confidently, "-but they will look to that — and so also
shall I."

"In the name of" —

But the old man got no further — a warning sign from Hendon
checked his remark. He resumed the thread of his gossip —

" Sir Hugh goeth to the coronation — and with grand hopes. He
confidently looketh to come back a peer, for he is high in favor with
the Lord Protector."

"What Lord Protector?" asked his majesty.

" His grace the Duke of Somerset."

"What Duke of Somerset?"

IN PBISON.

323

"Marry, there is but one — Seymour, earl of Hertford."

The king asked, sharply —

"Since when is he a duke, and Lord Protector?"

" Since the last day of January."

"And prithee who made him so?"

"Himself and the Great Council — with help of the king."

His majesty started violently. "The kiyig!'' he cried. " What
king, good sir ? "

" What king, indeed ! (God-a-mercy, what aileth the boy?) Sith
we have but one, 'tis not difficult to an-
swer— his most sacred majesty King Ed-
ward the Sixth
— whom God
preserve ! Yea,
and a dear and
gracious little
urchin is he,
too; and
whether he be
mad or no —
and they say
he mendeth
daily — his
praises are on
all men's lips ;

and all bless him, likewise, and offer prayers
that he may be spared to reign long in England; for he began hu-
manely, with saving the old duke of Norfolk's life, and now is he bent
on destroying the crudest of the laws that harry and oppress the
people."

This news struck his majesty dumb with amazement, and plunged

"the king !" HE ckikd

KING ? "

324 iJSf Piiisojv.

him into so deep and dismal a revery that he heard no more of the old
man's gossip. He wondered if the " little urchin "' was the beggar-boy
whom he left dressed in his own garments in the palace. It did not
seem possible that this could be, for surely his manners and speed i
would betray him if he pretended to be the prince of Wales — then
he would be driven out, and search made for the true prince. Could
it be that the Court had set up some sprig of the nobility in his place ?
No, for his uncle would not allow that — he was all-powerful and could
and would crush such a movement, of course. The boy's musings
profited him nothing ; the more he tried to unriddle the mystery the
more perplexed he became, the more his head ached, and the worse he
slept. His impatience to get to London grew hourly, and his captivity
became almost unendurable.

Hendon's arts all failed with the king — he could not be comforted ;
but a couple of women who Avere chained near him, succeeded better.
Under their gentle ministrations he found peace and learned a degree
of patience. He was very grateful, and came to love them dearly and
to delight in the sweet and soothing influence of their presence. He
asked them why they were in prison, and when they said they were
Baptists, he smiled, and inquired —

" Is that a crime to be shut up for, in a prison ? Now I grieve, for
I shall lose ye — they will not keep ye long for such a little thing."

They did not answer ; and something in their faces made him
uneasy. He said, eagerly —

"You do not speak — be good to me, and tell me — there will be
no other punishment? Prithee tell me there is no fear of that.'"

They tried to change the topic, but his fears were aroused, and he
pursued it —

" Will they scourge thee ? No, no, they would not be so cruel !
Say they would not. Come, they ivUl not, will they?"

The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there was no

IN PiusoN. 325

avoiding an answer, so one of them said, in a voice choked with
emotion —

" O, thou'lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit ! — God will help
us to bear our '' —

"It is a confession ! " the king broke in. " Then they will scourge
thee, the stonyhearted wretches ! But O, thou must not weep, I can-
not bear it. Keep up thy courage — I shall come to my own in time
to save thee from this bitter thing, and I will do it ! "

When the king awoke in the morning, the women were gone.

"They are saved!" he said, joyfully: then added, despondently,
"but woe is me! — for they were my comforters."

Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his clothing, in
token of remembrance. He said he would keep these things always;
and that soon he would seek out these dear good friends of his and
take them under his protection.

Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates and com-
manded that the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. The king-
was overjoyed — it would be a blessed thing to see the blue sky and
breathe the fresh air once more. He fretted and chafed at the slow-
ness of the officers, but his turn came at last and he was released from
his staple and ordered to follow the other prisoners, with Hendon.

The court or quadrangle, was stone-paved, and open to the sky.
The prisoners entered it through a massive archway of masonry, and
were placed in file, standing, with their backs against the wall. A
rope was stretched in front of them, and they were also guarded by
their officers. It was a chill and lowering morning, and a light snow
Avliich had fallen during the night whitened the great empty space
and added to the general dismalness of its aspect. Now and then a
wintry wind shivered through the place and sent the snow eddying
hither and thither.

In the centre of the court stood two women, chained to posts. A

326

IN PRISON.

glance showed the king that these were his good friends. He shud-
dered, and said to liimself, " Alack, they are not gone free, as I had
thouf^ht. To tliink that such as tliese should know the lash I — in
England ! Ay there's the shame of it — not in Heathenesse, but

Christian Eno'land ! Thev will
be scourged ; and I, whom they
have comforted and kindly en-
treated, must look on and see
the great Avrong done ; it is
strange, so strange ! that I, the
very source of power in this
broad realm, am helpless to pro-
tect them. But let these mis-
creants look well to themselves,
for there is a day coming when
I will require of them a heavy
reckoning for this work. For
every blow they strike now,
they shall feel a hundred,
then."

A great gate swung open
and a crowd of citizens poured
in. They flocked around the
two women, and hid them from
the king's view. A clergyman
entered and passed through the crowd, and he also was hidden. Tlie
king now heard talking, back and forth, as if questions were being-
asked and answered, but he could not make out what was said. Next
there was a deal of bustle and preparation, and much passing and
repassing of officials through that part of the crowd that stood on the
further side of the women ; and whilst this proceeded a deep hush
gradually fell upon the peo2)le.

TWO WOMEN CHAINED TO POSTS.

IN PBISON. 82T

Now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, and the king
saw a spectacle that froze the marrow in his bones. Fagots had been
piled about tlie two women, and a kneeling man was lighting them !

The women bowed their heads, and covered their faces with their
hands ; the 3^ellow flames began to climb upward among the snapping
and crackling fagots, and wreaths of blue smoke to stream away on
the wind; the clergyman lifted his hands and began a prayer — just
then two young girls came flying through the great gate, uttering
piercing screams, and threw themselves upon the women at the stake.
Instantly they were torn away by the officers, and one of them was
kept in a tight gvip, but the otlier broke loose, saying she would die
with lier mother ; and before she could be stopped, she had flung her
arms about her mother's neck again. She was torn away once more,
and with her gown on fire. Two or three men held her, and the
burning portion of her gown was snatched off and thrown flaming'-
aside, she struggling all the while to free herself, and saying she
would be alone in the world, now, nnd begging to be allowed to
die with her mother. Both the girls screamed continually, and fought
for freedom ; but suddenly this tumult was drowned under a volley
of heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agony, — the king glanced from
the frantic girls to the stake, then turned away and leaned his ashen
face against the wall, and looked no more. He said, " That which
I have seen, in tliat one little moment, will never go out from my
memory, but will abide there ; and I shall see it all the days, and
dream of it all the nights, till I die. Would God I had been blind ! '^

Hendon was watching the king. He said to himself, with satisfac-
tion, " His disorder mendeth ; he hath changed, and groweth gentler.
If he had followed his wont, he would have stormed at these varlets,
and said he was king, and commanded that the women be turned loose
unscathed. Soon his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and
his poor mind will be whole again. God speed the day ! "

328

IN PlilSON.

That same day several prisoners were brought in to remain over
night, who were being conveyed, under guard, to various places in the
kingdom, to undergo punishment for crimes committed. The king
conversed with these, — he had made it a point, from the beginning,

TOKN AWAV T;Y TIIK OFFICERS.'"

to instruct hnnself for the kingly office by questioning prisoners when-
ever the opportunity oifered — and the tale of their woes wrung his
heart. One of them was a poor half-witted woman who had stolen a
yard or two of cloth from a weaver — she was to be hanged for it.

ijy riiisoN.

329

Another was a man who had been accused of stealing a horse ; he said
the proof had failed, and he had imagined that he was safe from the
halter ; but no — he was hardly free before he was arraigned for killing
a deer in the king's park ; this was proved against him, and now he
was on his wa}' to the gallows.
There was a tradesman's appren-
tice whose case particularly dis-
tressed the king ; this youth said
he found a hawk, one evening,
that had escaped from its owner,
and he took it home with him,
imagining himself entitled to it ;
but the court convicted him of
stealing it, and sentenced him to
death.

The king was furious over
these inhumanities, and wanted
Hendon to break jail and fly with
him to Westminster, so that he
could mount his throne and hold
out his sceptre in mercy over
these unfortunate people and
save their lives. " Poor child,"
sighed Hendon, "these woful
tales have brought his malady

upon him again — alack, but for this evil hap, he would have been
well in a little time."

Among these prisoners was an old lawyer — a man with a strong
face and a dauntless mien. Three years past, he had written a pam-
phlet against the Lord Chancellor, accusing him of injustice, and had
been punished for it by the loss of his ears in the pillory, and degrada-

TllK Ki.NG WAS IT'I!IOl!S.

380 IN PRISON.

tiun from the Inii', ;iii(l in addition had been fined £3000 and sentenced
to imprisonment for life. Lately he had repeated his offence ; and in
consequence was now under sentence to lose what remained of his ears,
pay a fine of <£5000, be branded on both cheeks, and remain in prison
for life.

" These be honorable scars," he said, and turned back his gray hair
and showed the mutilated stubs of what had once been his ears.
The king's eye burned with passion. He said —
"None believe in me — neither wilt thou. But no matter —
within the compass of a month thou shalt be free ; and more, the
laws that have dishonored thee, and shamed the English name, shall
be swept from the statute books. The world is made wrong, kings
should go to school to their own laws, at times, and so learn mercy." ^

i See NotfS to Cliapter 27, at end of voluirie.

CHAPTER XXVIIT.

THE SACRIFICE.

Meantime Miles was growing sufficiently tired of confinement
and inaction. But now his trial came on, to his great gratification,
and he thought he could welcome any sentence provided a further
imprisonment should not be a part of it. But he was mistaken about
that. He was in a fine fury when he found himself described as a
" sturdy vagabond " and sentenced to sit two hours in the pillory for
bearing that character and for assaulting the master of Hendon Hall.
His pretensions as to brothership with his prosecutor, and rightful
heirship to the Hendon honors and estates, were left contemptuously
unnoticed, as being not even worth examination.

He raged and threatened, on his way to punishment, but it did no
good ; he was snatched roughly along, by the officers, and got an
occasional cuff, besides, for his unreverent conduct.

The king could not pierce through the rabble that swarmed
behind ; so he was obliged to follow in the rear, remote from his
good friend and servant. The king had been nearly condemned to
the stocks, himself, for being in such bad company, but had been let
off with a lecture and a warning, in consideration of his youth. When
the crowd at last halted, he flitted feverishly from point to point
around its outer rim, hunting a place to get through ; and at last,
after a deal of difficulty and delay, succeeded. There sat his poor
henchman in the degrading stocks, the sport and butt of a dirty mob

333

834

THE SACRIFICE.

— lie, the body servant of the king of England! Edward liad heard
the sentence pronounced, but he had not realized the half that it
meant. His anger began to rise as the sense of this new indignity
which had been put upon him sank home ; it jumped to summer heat,
the next moment, when he saw an egg sail through the air

and crush itself against ^^^ Hendon's cheek, and heard the

' HE COJfFRONTED THE OFFICER
YS CHARGE."

crowd roar its enjoyment of the episode. He sprang across the open
circle and confronted the officer in charge, crying " —

" For shame ! This is my servant — set him free ! I am the " —
" O, peace ! " exclaimed Hendon, in a panic, " thou'lt destroy
thyself. Mind him not, officer, he is mad."

" Give thyself no trouble as to the matter of minding him, good
man, I have small mind to mind him : but as to teaching him some-
what, to that I am well inclined." He turned to a subordinate and

THE SACRIFICE. 335

said, " Give the little fool a taste or two of the lash, to luencl his
manners."

"Half a dozen will better serve his tnrn," suggested Sir Iliigli,
who had ridden up, a )noment before, to take a passing glance at tlie
proceedings.

The king was seized. He did not even struggle, so paralyzed was
he with the mere thought of the monstrous outrage tiiat was proposed
to be inflicted upon his sacred ])erson. History Avas already defiled
with the record of the scourging ol' an English king with whips — it
was an intolerable reflection that he must furnish a duplicate of that
shameful page. He was in the toils, there was no help for him : he
must either take this punishment or beg for its remission. Hard
conditions ; lie would take the stripes — a king might do that, but a
king could not beg.

But meantime. Miles Hendon was resolving the difficulty. " Let
the child go," said he ; " ye heartless dogs, do ye not .see how^ joi-^ng
and frail he is ? Let him go — I wdll take his lashes."

" Marry, a good thought, — and thanks for it," said Sir Hugli, his
face lighting with a sardonic satisfaction. " Let the little beggar go,
and give this fellow a dozen in his place — an honest dozen, well laid
on." The king was in the act of entering a fierce protest, but Sir
Hugh silenced him with the potent remark, " Yes, speak up, do, and
free thy mind — only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he shall
get six strokes the more."

Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid bare ; and
whilst the lash was applied the poor little king turned away his face
and allowed unroyal tears to channel his cheeks unchecked. " Ah,
brave good heart," he said to himself, " this loyal deed shall never
perish out of my memory. I will not forget it — and neither shall
they!^'' he added, with passion. Whilst he mused, his appreciation
of Hendon's magnanimous conduct grew to greater and still greater

336

THE SACRIFICE.

dimensions in his mind, and so also did his gratefulness for it. Pres-
ently he said to himself, " Who saves his prince from wonnds and
j)ossible death — and this he did for me — performs high service ; but
it is little — it is nothing I — O, less than nothing! — when "tis

weighed against
the act of him
who saves his
prince fro m
SHAME ! "

Hendon made
no outcry, under
the scourge, but
bore the heavy
blows with soIt
dierly fortitude.
This, together
with his redeem-
ing the boy by
taking his stripes
for him, com-
pelled the respect
of even that for-
lorn and degraded
mob that was
gathered there ;
and its gibes and

hootings died away, and no sound remained but the sound of the
falling blows. The stillness that pervaded the place, when Hendon
found himself once more in the stocks, was in strong contrast with
the insulting clamor which had prevailed there so little a while before.
The king came softly to Hendon's side, and whispered in his ear —

WHILE THE LASH WAS APPLIED, THE POOR
KIXG TUPvXED AWAY HIS FACE."

THE SACRIFICE.

337

" Kings cannot ennoble thee, thou good, great soul, for One who
is higher than kings hath done that for thee ; but a king can confirm
thy nobility to men." He picked up the scourge from the ground,
touched Hendon's bleeding shoulders lightl}^ with it, and whispered,
" Edward of England dubs thee earl ! "

Hendon was touched. The water welled to his eyes, vet at the
same time the grisly humor of the situation and cir-

cumstances so under- <^^k:,l;' mined his gravity that it was all

aWiV'vl

SIK HUGH SPUKRED AWAY.'

he could do to keep
some sign of his inward
mirth from showing out-
side. To be suddenly
hoisted, naked and gory,
from the common stocks to the Alpine altitude and splendor of an
Earldom, seemed to him the last possibility in the line of the gro-
tesque. He said to himself, " Now am I finely tinselled, indeed !
The spectre-knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows is
become a spectre-earl ! — a dizzy flight for a callow wing ! An' this
go on, I shall presently be hung like a very may-pole with fantastic

338 THE SACRIFICE.

gauds and make-believe honors. But I shall value them, all valueless
as they are, for the love that doth bestow them. Better these poor
mock dignities of mine, that come unasked, from a clean hand and a
right spirit, than real ones bought by servility from grudging and
interested power."

The di'eaded Sir Hugh wheeled his horse about, and as he spurred
away, the living wall divided silently to let him pass, and as silentl}^
closed together again. And so remained ; nobody went so far as to
venture a remark in favor of the prisoner, or in compliment to him :
but no matter, the absence of abuse was a sufficient homage in itself.
A late comer who was not posted as to the present circumstances, and
who delivered a sneer at the " impostor " and was in the act of fol-
lowing it with a dead cat, was promptl}' knocked down and kicked
out, without any words, and then the deep tj^uiet resumed sway once
more.

CHAPTER XXIX.

TO LONDON.

When Hendon's term of service in the stocks was finished, he was
released and ordered to quit the region and come back no more. His
sword was restored to him, and also his mule and his donkey. He
mounted and rode off, followed by the king, the crowd opening with
quiet respectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersing when they

were gone.

Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. There were questions of
high import to be answered. What should he do ? Whither should
he go? Powerful help must be found, somewhere, or he must relin-
quish his inheritance and remain under the imputation of being an
impostor besides. Where could he hope to find this powerful help?
Where, indeed ! It was a knotty question. By and by a thought
occurred to him wliich pointed to a possibility — the slenderest of
slender possibilities, certainly, but still worth considering, for lack of
any other that promised any thing at all. He remembered what old
Andrews had said about the young king's goodness and his generous
championship of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not go and try
to get speech of him and beg for justice ? Ah, yes, but could so fan-
tastic a pauper get admission to the august presence of a monarch?
Never mind — let that matter take care of itself ; it was a bridge that
would not need to be crossed till he should come to it. He was
an old campaigner, and used to inventing shifts and expedients ; no

341

342

TO LONDON.

doubt he would be able to find a way. Yes, he would strike for the
capital. Maybe his father's old friend Sir Humphrey Marlow would
help him — "good old Sir Humphrey, Head Lieutenant of the late

king's kitchen, or stables, or some-
thing " — Miles could not re-
member just what or which.
Now that he had something
to turn his energies to, a
distinctly defined object

to accomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression which had settled
down upon his spirits lifted and blew away, and he raised his head
and looked about him. He was surprised to see how far he had come ;
the village was away behind him. The king was jogging along in his
wake, with his head bowed ; for he, too, was deep in plans and think-

TO LONDON.

343

" IN THE MIDST OF A JAM OF HOWLING PEOPLE.

ings. A sorrowful misgiving clouded Hendon's new-born cheerful-
ness : would the boy be willing to go again to a city where, during all
his brief life, he had never known any thing but ill usage and pinching
want? But the question must be asked; it could not be avoided; so
Hendon reined up, and called out —

"I had forgotten to inquire whither we are bound. Thy com-
mands, my liege ! "

"To London!"

Hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the answer — but
astounded at it, too.

344 TO LONDON.

The whole journey was made without an adventure of importance.
But it ended with one. About ten o'clock on the night of the 19th
of February, they stepped upon London Bridge, in the midst of a
writhing, struggling jam of howling and hurrahing people, whose beer-
jolly faces stood out strongly in the glare from manifold torches — and
at that instant the decaying head of some former duke or other gran-
dee tumbled down between them, striking Hendon on the elbow and
then bounding off among the hurrying confusion of feet. So evanes-
cent and unstable are men's works, in this world ! — the late good
king is but three weeks dead and three days in his grave, and already
the adornments which he took such pains to select from prominent
people for his noble bridge are falling. A citizen stumbled over that
head, and drove his own head into the back of somebody in front of
him, who turned and knocked down the first person that came handy,
and was promptly laid out himself by that person's friend. It was the
right ripe time for a free fight, for the festivities of the morrow —
Coronation Day — were already beginning; everybody was full of
strong drink and patriotism ; within five minutes the free fight was
occupying a good deal of ground ; within ten or twelve it covered an
acre or so, and was become a riot. By this time Hendon and the king
were hopelessly separated from each other and lost in the rush and
turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. And so we leave them.

CHAPTER XXX.

TOM'S PROGRESS.

Whilst the true King wandered about the hind poorly chad, poorly
fed, cuffed and derided by tramps one while, herding with thieves and
murderers in a jail another, and called idiot and impostor by all impar-
tially, the mock King Tom Canty enjoyed a quite different experience.

When we saw him last, royalty was just beginning to have a bright
side for him. This bright side went on brightening more and more
every day : in a very little while it was become almost all sunshine
and delightfulness. He lost his fears ; his misgivings faded out and
died ; his embarrassments departed, and gave place to an easy and con-
fident bearing. He worked the whipping-bo}^ mine to ever-increasing
profit.

He ordered my Lady Elizabeth and my Lady Jane Grey into his
presence when he wanted to play or talk, and dismissed them when he
was done with them, with the air of one familiarly accustomed to such
performances. It no longer confused him to have these lofty person-
ages kiss his hand at parting.

He came to enjoy being conducted to bed in state at night, and
dressed with intricate and solemn ceremony in the morning. It came
to be a proud pleasure to march to dinner attended by a glittering pro-
cession of officers of state and gentlemen-at-arms ; insomuch, indeed,
that he doubled his guard of gentlemen-at-arms, and made them a
hundred. He liked to hear the bugles sounding down the long corri-
dors, and the distant voices responding, " Way for the King ! "

347

348

TOM'S PBOGBESS.

He even learned to enjoy sitting in throned state in council, and
seeming to be something more than the Lord Protector's mouth-piece.
He liked to receive great ambassadors and their gorgeous trains, and
listen to the affectionate messages they brought from illustrious mon-
archs who called him " brother." O happy Tom Canty, late of Offal
Court !

■ TO KISS HIS HAND AT PARTING.

He enjoyed his splendid clothes, and ordered more : he found his
four hundred servants too few for his proper grandeur, and trebled
them. The adulation of salaaming courtiers came to be sweet music
to his ears. He remained kind and gentle, and a sturd}^ and deter-
mined champion of all that were oppressed, and he made tireless war
upon unjust laws : yet upon occasion, being offended, he could tuni
upon an earl, or even a duke, and give him a look that would make

TOM'S PROGRESS.

349

him tremble. Once, when his royal " sister," the grimly, holy Lady
Mary, set herself to reason with him against the wisdom of his course
in pardoning so many people who would otherwise be jailed, or hanged,
or burned, and reminded him that their august late father's prisons had
sometimes contained as high as sixty thousand convicts at one time.

"commanded her to go to her closet."

and that during his admirable reign he had delivered seventy-two thou-
sand thieves and robbers over to death by the executioner,^ the boy
was filled with generous indignation, and commanded her to go to her
closet, and beseech God to take away the stone that was in her breast,

and give her a human heart.

^ Hume's England.

350 TOM'S PROGBESS.

Did Tom Canty never feel troubled about the poor little rightful
prince who had treated him so kindly, and flown out with such hot
zeal to avenge him upon the insolent sentinel at the palace-gate ?
Yes ; his first royal days and nights were pretty well sprinkled with
painful thoughts about the lost prince, and with sincere longings for
his return, and happy restoration to his native rights and splendors.
But as time wore on, and the prince did not come, Tom's mind became
more and more occupied with his new and enchanting experiences, and
by little and little the vanished monarch faded almost out of his
thoughts ; and finally, when he did intrude upon them at intervals,
he was become an unwelcome spectre, for he made Tom feel guilty
and ashamed.

Tom's poor mother and sisters travelled the same road out of his
mind. At first ho pined for them, sorrowed for them, longed to see
them, but later, the tliought of their coming some day in their rags
and dirt, and betraying him with their kisses, and pulling him down
from his lofty place, and dragging him back to penury and degradation
and the slums, made him shudder. At last they ceased to trouble his
thoughts almost wholly. And he was content, even glad ; for, when-
ever their mournful and accusing faces did rise before him now, they
made him feel more despicable than the worms that crawl.

At midnight of the 19th of February, Tom Canty was sinking to
sleep in his rich bed in the palace, guarded by his loyal vassals, and
surrounded by the pomps of royalty, a happy boy ; for to-morrow
was the day appointed for his solemn crowning as King of England.
At that same hour, Edward, the true king, hungry and thirsty, soiled
and draggled, worn with travel, and clothed in rags and shreds, — his
share of the results of tlie riot, — was wedged in among a crowd of
people who were watching with deep interest certain hurrying gangs
of workmen who streamed in and out of Westminster Abbey, busy as
ants : they were making the last preparation for the royal coronation.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE KECOGNITION PROCESSION.

When Tom Canty awoke the next morning, the air was heavy
with a thunderous murmur : all the distances were charged with it. It

was music to him ; for it meant that the Eng-
/A\/a1" ;^\ lish world was out in its strength to give
loyal welcome to the great day.

Presently Tom found himself once more

the chief figure in a wonderful floating

pageant on the Thames ; for by ancient

-] custom the "recognition pro-

^p^i;" cession " through London
= must start from the Tower,

and he was bound thither.
When he arrived there,
the sides of the venerable fortress seemed suddenly rent in a thousand

3£3

THE STAliT I'OJi THE TOWER

354 THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

places, and from every rent leaped a red tongue of flame and a
white gush of smoke ; a deafening explosion followed, which drowned
the shoutings of the multitude, and made the ground tremble ; the
flame-jets, the smoke, and the explosions, were repeated over and
over again with marvellous celerity, so that in a few moments the old
Tower disappeared in the vast fog of its own smoke, all but the very
top of the tall pile called the White Tower: this, with its banners,
stood out above the dense bank of vapor as a mountain-peak projects
above a cloud-rack.

Tom Canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing war-steed,
whose rich trappings almost reached to the ground ; his " uncle," the
Lord Protector Somerset, similarly mounted, took place in his rear ;
the King's Guard formed in single ranks on either side, clad in bur-
nished armor ; after the Protector followed a seemingly interminable
procession of resplendent nobles attended by their vassals ; after these
came the lord mayor and the aldermanic body, in crimson velvet robes,
and with their gold chains across their breasts; and after these the
officers and members of all the guilds of London, in rich raiment, and
bearing the showy banners of the several corporations. Also in the
procession, as a special guard of honor through the city, was the
Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company, — an organization already
three hundred years old at that time, and the only military body in
England possessing the privilege (which it still possesses in our day)
of holding itself independent of the commands of Parliament. It
was a brilliant spectacle, and was hailed with acclamations all along
the line, as it took its stately way through the packed multitudes of
citizens. The chronicler says, " The King, as he entered the city, was
received by the people with prayers, welcomings, cries, and tender
words, and all signs which argue an earnest love of subjects toward
their sovereign ; and the King, by holding up his glad countenance to
such as stood afar off, and most tender language to those that stood

THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

355

nigh his Grace, showed liimself no less thankful to receive the people's
good will than they to offer it. To all that wished him well, he gave
thanks. To such as bade ' God save his Grace,' he said in return, ' God
save you all ! ' and added that ' he thanked them witli all his heart.'
Wonderfully transported were the peo-
ple with the loving answers and ges-
tures of their King."

In Fenchurch Street a "fair child,
in costly apparel," stood on a stage to
welcome his Majesty to the city. The
last verse of his greeting was in these
words : —

" Welcome, O King ! as iniicli as hearts can
think ;
AVelcome again, as much as tongue can
tell, —
Welcome to joyous tongues, and hearts that
will not shrink :
God thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee
ever well."

The people burst forth in a glad
shout, repeating with one voice what
the child had said. Tom Canty gazed
abroad over the surging sea of eager
faces, and his heart swelled with exul-
tation ; and he felt that the one tiring
worth living for in this world was to be

a king, and a nation's idol. Presently he caught sight, at a distance,
of a couple of his ragged Offal Court comrades, — one of them the
lord high admiral in his late mimic court, the other the first lord of
the bedchamber in the same pretentious fiction ; and his pride swelled

WKLCOME, O KING

I "

356

THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

higher than ever. Oli, if they could only recognize him now! What

unspeakable glorj- it would be, if the}^ could recognize him, and

realize that the derided mock king of the slums and

back alleys was become a real king, with illustri- -^"^""^ ^

ous dukes and princes for his humble menials, /^^^ j^g'/f nV--::^ /;■

and tlie Eng^lish world at his feet! But / D j^M

he liad to deny

liimself, and

choke down his desire,
for such a recognition
might cost more than
it would come to : so
he turned away his
head, and left the two
soiled lads to go on
with their shoutings

and glad adulations, unsuspicious of whom it was they were lavishing

them upon.

'•A LAKGESS! A LAUGKSS!"

THE RECOGNITION PliOCESSION.

3.^7

Every now and tlien rose the cry, " A largess ! a largess ! " and
Tom responded by scattering a handful of bright new coins abroad
for the multitude to scramble for.

The chronicler says, " At the upper end of Gracechurch Street,
before the sign of the Eagle, the city had erected a gorgeous arch,
beneath which was a stage, which stretched from one side of the street
to the other. This was a historical pageant, representing the King's
immediate progenitors. There sat Elizabeth of York in the midst of
ani immense white rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows
around her ; by her side was Henry VII., issuing out of a vast red
rose, disposed in the same manner : tlie hands of the royal pair were
locked together, and the wedding-ring ostentatiously displayed. From
the red and white roses proceeded a stem, which reached up to a
second stage, occupied by Henry VIII. , issuing from a red-and-white
rose, with the effigy of the new king's mother, Jane Seymour, repre-
sented by his side. One branch sprang from this pair, which mounted
to a third stage, where sat the effigy of Edward VI. himself, enthroned
in royal majesty ; and the whole pageant was framed with wreaths of
roses, red and white."

This quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrouglit upon the rejoicing
people, that their acclamations utterly smothered the small voice of
the child whose business it was to explain the thing in eulogistic
rhymes. But Tom Canty was not sorry ; for this loyal uproar was
sweeter music to him than any poetry, no matter what its quality
might be. "Whithersoever Tom turned his happy young face, the
people recognized the exactness of his effigy's likeness to himself, the
flesh and blood counterpart ; and new whirlwinds- of applause burst
forth.

The great pageant moved on, and still on, under one triumphal
arch after another, and past a bewildering succession of spectacular
and symbolical tableaux, each of which typified and exalted some

368 THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

virtue, or talent, or merit, of tlie little king's. " Throughout the whole
of Cheapside, from every penthouse and window, hnng banners and
streamers ; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold tapestried
the streets, — specimens of the great wealth of the stores within ; and
tlie splendor of this thoroughfare was equalled in the other streets,
;ind in some even surpassed."

"And all these wonders and these marvels are to welcome me —
me ! "' murmured Tom Canty.

The mock king's cheeks were flushed with excitement, his eyes
were flashing, his senses swam in a delirium of pleasure. At this
])oint, just as he was raising his hand to fling another rich largess, he
caught sight of a pale, astounded face which was strained forward out
of the second rank of the crowd, its intense eyes riveted upon him. A
sickening consternation struck through him ; he recognized his mother !
and up flew his hand, palm outward, before his eyes, — that old invol-
untary gesture, born of a forgotten episode, and perpetuated by habit.
In an instant more she had torn her way out of the press, and past the
guards, and was at his side. She embraced his leg, she covered it
witli kisses, she cried, " O my child, my darling ! " lifting toward him
a face that was transfigured with joy and love. The same instant an
officer of the King's Guard snatched her away with a curse, and sent
her reeling back whence she came with a vigorous impulse from his
strong arm. The words " I do not know you, woman ! " were falling
from Tom Canty's lips when this piteous thing occurred ; but it smote
him to the heart to see her treated so ; and as she turned for a last
glimpse of him, whilst the crowd was swallowing her from his sight,
she seemed so wounded, so broken-hearted, that a shame fell upon him
Avhich consumed his pride to ashes, and withered his stolen royalty.
His grandeurs were stricken valueless : they seemed to fall away from
him like rotten rags.

The procession moved on, and still on, through ever augmenting

THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

359

splendors and ever augmenting tempests of welcome; but to Tom
Canty they were as if they had not been. He neither saw nor heard.

Royalty had lost its grace and sweetness ;
its pomps were become a reproach. Re-
morse was eating his heart out. He said,
" Would God I were free of my cap-
tivity ! "
He had unconsciously dropped back into the phraseology of the
first days of his compulsory greatness.

360 THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

The shining pageant still went winding like a radiant and inter-
minable serpent down the crooked lanes of the quaint old city, and
through the huzzaing hosts ; but still the King rode with bowed head
and vacant eyes, seeing only his mother's face and that wounded look
in it.

" Largess, largess ! " The cry fell upon an unheeding ear.

" Long live Edward of England ! " It seemed as if the earth
shook with the explosion ; but there was no response from the King.
He heard it only as one hears the thunder of the surf when it is
blown to the ear out of a great distance, for it was smothered under
another sound which Avas still nearer, in his own breast, in his accus-
ing conscience, — a voice which kept repeating those shameful words,
" I do not know you, Avoman ! "

The words smote upon the King's soul as the strokes of a funeral
bell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend when they remind him
of secret treacheries suffered at his hands by him that is gone.

New glories were unfolded at every turning; new wonders, new
marvels, sprung into view ; the pent clamors of waiting batteries were
released; new raptures poured from the throats of the waiting mul-
titudes: but the King gave no sign, and the accusing voice that
went moaning through his comfortless breast was all the sound he
heard.

By and by the gladness in the faces of the populace changed a
little, and became touched with a something like solicitude or anxiety :
an abatement in the volume of applause was observable too. The
lord protector was quick to notice these things : he was as quick to
detect the cause. He spurred to the King's side, bent low in his
saddle, uncovered, and said, —

" My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. The people observe thy
downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they take it for an omen. Be
advised : unveil the sun of royalty, and let it shine upon these boding

THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

861

vapors, and disperse them. Lift up thy face, and smile upon the
people."

So saying, the duke scattered a handful of coins to right and left,
then retired to his place. The mock king did mechanically as he had
been bidden. His smile had no heart in it, but few eyes were near
enough or sharp enough to detect that. The noddings of his plumed

" MY LIEGE, IT IS AN ILL Tlili; I'OU UKEAAIiMG.'

head as he saluted his subjects were full of grace and graciousness ;
the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally liberal : so
the people's anxiety vanished, and the acclamations burst forth again
in as mighty a volume as before.

Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, the duke

was obliged to ride forward, and make remonstrance. He whispered, —

" O dread sovereign ! shake off these fatal humors : the eyes of the

362

THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION.

world are upon thee.'' Then he added with sharp annoyance, " Per-
dition catch that crazy pauper ! 'twas she that hath disturbed your
Highness.'"

The gorgeous figure turned a lustreless eye
upon the duke, and said in a dead voice, —

" She was my mother ! "
My God ! " groaned the protector as he
reigned his horse backward to his post, "the
omen was pregnant with prophecy. He is gone
mad again ! "

CHAPTER XXXII.

CORONATION DAY.

Let us go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in Westmin-
ster Abbey, at four o'clock in the morning of this memorable Corona-
tion Day. We are not Avithout company ; for although it is still night,
we find the torch-lighted galleries already filling up with people who
are well content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time
shall come for them to see what they may not hope to see twice in
their lives — the coronation of a king. Yes, London and Westminster
have been astir ever since the warning guns boomed at three o'clock,
and already crowds of untitled rich folk who have bought the privilege
of trying to find sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the
entrances reserved for their sort.

The hours drag along, tediously enough. All stir has ceased for
some time, for every gallery has long ago been packed. We may sit,
now, and look and think at our leisure. We have glimpses, here and
there and yonder, through the dim cathedral twilight, of portions of
many galleries and balconies, wedged full with people, the other por-
tions of these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by inter-
vening pillars and architectural projections. We have in view the
whole of the great north transept — empty, and waiting for England's
privileged ones. We see also the ample area or platform, carpeted
with rich stuffs, whereon the throne stands. The throne occupies the
centre of the platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four

365

•666

CORONATION BAY.

steps. Within the seat of the throne is enclosed a rough flat rock —
the stone of Scone — which many generations of Scottish kings sat on
to be crowned, and so it in time became holy enough to answer a like
purpose for English monarchs. Both the throne and its footstool are

covered with cloth of gold.

Stillness reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags heavily.
But at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the torches are extin-
guished, and a mellow radiance suffuses the great spaces. All features

GATHERS UP THE I>ADY S LONG TKAIN.

of the noble building are distinct, now, but soft and dreamy, for the
sun is lightly veiled with clouds.

At seven o'clock the first break in the drowsy monotony occurs ;
for on the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters the transept,
clothed like Solomon for splendor, and is conducted to her appointed
place by an official clad in satins and velvets, whilst a duplicate of
him gathers up the lady's long train, follows after, and, when the lady
is seated, arranges the train across her lap for her. He then places
her footstool according to her desire, after which he puts her coronet
where it will be convenient to her hand when the time for the simul-
taneous coronetting of the nobles shall arrive.

CORONATION DAY. 367

By this time the peeresses are flowing in in a glittering stream,
and the satin-clad officials are flitting and glinting everywhere, seating
them and making them comfortable. The scene is animated enough,
now. There is stir and life, and shifting color everywhere. After a
time, quiet reigns again ; for the peeresses are all come, and are all
in their places — a solid acre, or such a matter, of human flowers,
resplendent in variegated colors, and frosted like a Milky Way with
diamonds. There are all ages, here : brown, wrinkled, whitehaired
dowagers who are able to go back, and still back, down the stream
of time, and recall the crowning of Richard III and the troublous
days of that old forgotten age ; and there are handsome middle-aged
dames ; and lovely and gracious young matrons ; and gentle and
beautiful young girls, with beaming eyes and fresh complexions, who
may possibly put on their jewelled coronets awkwardly when the great
time comes ; for the matter will be new to them, and their excitement
will be a sore hindrance. Still, this may not happen, for the hair of
all these ladies has been arranged with a special view to the swift and
successful lodging of the crown in its place when the signal comes.

We have seen that this massed array of peeresses is sown thick
with diamonds, and we also see that it is a marvellous spectacle — but
now we are about to be astonished in earnest. About nine, the clouds
suddenly break away and a shaft of sunshine cleaves the mellow
atmosphere, and drifts slowly along the ranks of ladies ; and every
rank it touches flames into a dazzling splendor of many-colored fires,
and we tingle to our finger-tips with the electric thrill that is shot
through us by the surprise and the beauty of the spectacle ! Presently
a special envoy from some distant corner of the Orient, marching
with the general body of foreign ambassadors, crosses this bar of sun-
shine, and we catch our breath, the glory that streams and flashes and
palpitates about him is so ' overpowering ; for he is crusted from head
to heel with gems, and his slightest movement showers a dancing
radiance all around him.

368

COBONATION DAY.

Let us change the tense for convenience. The time drifted along,

— one hour — two hours — two hours and a
half ; then the deep booming of artillery
told that the king and his grand
procession had arrived at last ;
so the waiting multitude re-

joiced. All knew that a fur^
ther delay must follow, for
the king must be prepared
and robed for the solemn
ceremony; but this delay
would be pleasantly occu-
pied by the assembling of
the peers of the realm in
tlieir stately robes. These
were conducted ceremoni-
ously to their seats, and
their coronets placed con-
veniently at hand ; and
meanwhile the multitude
in the galleries were alive
with interest, for most of
them were beholding for
the first time, dukes, earls
and barons, whose names
had been historical for five
hundred years. When all
were finally seated, the
spectacle from the galleries

and all coigns of vantage was complete ; a gorgeous one to look upon

and to remember.

■TOM CANTY APPEARED."

CORONATION DAY. 369

Now the robed and mitred great heads of the church, and their
attendants, filed in upon the platform and took their appointed places ;
these were followed by the Lord Protector and other great officials,
and these again by a steel-clad detachment of the Guard.

There was a waiting pause ; then, at a signal, a triumphant peal
of music burst forth, and Tom Canty, clothed in a long robe of cloth
of gold, appeared at a door, and stepped upon the platform. The
entire multitude rose, and the ceremony of the Recognition ensued.

Then a noble anthem swept the Abbey with its rich waves of
sound ; and thus heralded and welcomed, Tom Canty was conducted
to the throne. The ancient ceremonies went on, with impressive
solemnity, whilst the audience gazed ; and as they drew nearer and
nearer to completion, Tom Canty grew pale, and still paler, and a
deep and steadily deepening woe and despondency settled down upon
his spirits and upon his remorseful heart.

At last the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of Canterbury
lifted up the crown of England from its cushion and held it out over
the trembling mock-king's head. In the same instant a rainbow-radi-
ance flashed along the spacious transept ; for with one impulse every
individual in the great concourse of nobles lifted a coronet and poised
it over his or her head, — and paused in that attitude.

A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive moment,
a startling apparition intruded upon the scene — an apparition
observed by none in the absorbed multitude, until it suddenly
appeared, moving up the great central aisle. It was a boy, bare-
headed, ill shod, and clothed in coarse plebeian garments that were
falling to rags. He raised his hand with a solemnity which ill com-
ported with his soiled and sorry aspect, and delivered this note of
warning —

" I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that forfeited
head. I am the kino- ! "

370

COnONATION BAY.

In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon the boy ;
but in the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal vestments, made a
swift step forward and cried out in a ringing voice —

" Loose him and forbear ! He is the king ! "

A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, and they
partly rose in their places and stared in a bewildered way at one

Vy^.v*^

AND FELL ON HIS KNEES BEFOKE UIJI."

another and at the chief figures in this scene, like persons who
wondered whether they were awake and in their senses, or asleep
and dreaming. The Lord Protector was as amazed as the rest, but
quickly recovered himself and exclaimed in a voice of authority —

" Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again — seize
the vagabond ! "

CORONATION DAY. 371

He would have been obeyed, but the mock-king stamped his foot
and cried out —

" On your peril ! Touch him not, he is the king ! "

The hands were withheld ; a paralysis fell upon the house ; no one
moved, no one sj)oke ; indeed no one knew how to act or what to say,
in so strange and surprising an emergency. While all minds were
struggling to right themselves, the boy still moved steadily forward,
with high port and confident mien ; he had never halted from the
beginning ; and while the tangled minds still floundered helplessly,
he stepped upon the platform, and the mock-king ran with a glad
face to meet him ; and fell on his knees before him and said —

" O, my lord the king, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear fealty
to thee, and say ' Put on thy crown and enter into thine own again ! ' "

The Lord Protector's eye fell sternly upon the new-comer's face ;
but straightway the sternness vanished away, and gave place to an
expression of wondering surprise. This thing happened also to the
other great officers. They glanced at each other, and retreated a
step by a common and unconscious impulse. The thought in each
mind was the same : " What a strange resemblance ! "

The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two, in perplexity, then
he said, with grave respectfulness —

" By your favor, sir, I desire to ask certain questions which " —

" I will answer them, my lord."

The duke asked him many questions about the court, the late
king, the prince, the princesses, — the boy answered them correctly
and without hesitating. He described the rooms of stat^ in the
palace, the late king's apartments, and those of the Prince of
Wales.

It was strange j it was wonderful ; yes, it was unaccountable —
so all said that heard it. The tide was beginning to turn, and Tom
Canty's hopes to run high, when the Lord Protector shook his head
and said —

372 CORONATION BAY.

" It is true it is most wonderful — but it is no more than our lord
the king likewise can do." This remark, and this reference to him-
self as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his hopes
crumbling from under him. " These are not 2^roofs^'" added the
Protector.

The tide was turning very fast, now, very fast indeed — but in
the Avrong direction ; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded on the
throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. The Lord Protector com-
muned with himself — shook his head — the thought forced itself
upon him, " It is perilous to the State and to us all, to entertain so
fateful a riddle as this ; it could divide the nation and undermine the
throne." He turned and said —

" Sir Thomas, arrest this — No, hold ! " His face lighted, and he
confronted the ragged candidate with this question —

" Where lieth the Great Seal ? Answer me this truly, and the
riddle is unriddled ; for only he that was Prince of Wales can so
answer I On so trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty ! "

It was a lucky thouglit, a happy thought. Tliat it was so con-
sidered by the great officials was manifested by the silent applause
that shot from eye to eye around their circle in the form of bright
approving glances. Yes, none but the true prince could dissolve the
stubborn mystery of the vanished Great Seal — this forlorn little
impostor had been taught his lesson well, but here his teachings must
fail, for his teacher himself could not answer that question — ah, very
good, very good indeed ; now we shall be rid of this troublesome and
perilous business in short order ! And so they nodded invisibly and
smiled inwardly with satisfaction, and looked to see this foolish lad
stricken with a palsy of guilty confusion. How surprised they were,
then, to see nothing of the sort happen — how they marvelled to hear
him answer up promptly, in a- confident and untroubled voice, and
say —

CORONATION DAY.

373

" There is nought in this riddle that is difficult." Then, without so
much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned and gave this command,
with the easy manner of one accustomed to
doing such things : " My lord St. John, go
you to my private cabinet in the palace —
for none knoweth the place better than
you — and, close down to the floor, in the
left corner remotest from the door that

opens from the ante-chamber, you shall find in the wall a brazen
nail-head ; press upon it and a little jewel-closet will fly open which

874 CORONATION BAY.

not even you do know of — no, nor any soul else, in all the world but
me and the trusty artisan that did contrive it for me. The first thing
•that falleth under your eye will be the Great Seal — fetch it hither."

All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered still more
to see the little mendicant pick out this peer without hesitancy or
apparent fear of mistake, and call him by name with such a placidly
convincing air of having known him all his life. The peer was almost
surprised into obeying. He even made a movement as if to go, but
quickly recovered his tranquil attitude and confessed his blunder with
a blush. Tom Canty turned upon him and said, sharply —

" Why dost thou hesitate ? Hast not heard the king's command ?
Go!"

The lord St. John made a deep obeisance — and it was observed
that it was a significantly cautious and non-committal one, it not being
delivered at either of the kings, but at the neutral ground about half
way between the two — and took his leave.

Now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that official
group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet steady and persist-
ent — a movement such as is observed in a kaleidoscope that is turned
slowly, whereby the components of one splendid cluster fall away and
join themselves to another — a movement Avhich little by little, in the
present case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about Tom
Canty and clustered it together again in the neighborhood of the new-
comer. Tom Canty stood almost alone. Now ensued a brief season
of deep suspense and. waiting — during Avhich even the few faint-hearts
still remaining near Tom Canty gradually scraped together courage
enough to glide, one by one, over to the majority. So at last Tom
Canty, in his royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated
from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent vacancy.

Now the lord St. John was seen returning. As he advanced up the
mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the low murmur of conversa-

CORONATION DAY.

375

tion in the great assemblage died out and was succeeded by a profound
hush, a breathless stillness, through which his footfalls pulsed with a
dull and distant sound. Every eye was fastened upon him as he moved
along. He reached the platform, paused a moment, then moved toward
Tom Canty with a deep obeisance, and said —

" Sire, the Seal is not there ! "

A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague-patient

' SIRE, THE SEAL IS NOT THEKE.

with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified courtiers melted
away from the presence of the shabby little claimant of the Crown.
In a moment he stood all alone, without friend or supporter, a target
upon which was concentrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks.
The Lord Protector called out fiercely —

" Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him through the town
— the paltry knave is worth no more consideration ! "

Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom Canty waved
them off and said —

" Back ! Whoso touches him perils his life ! "

376 CORONATION BAY.

The Lord Protector was perplexed, in the last degree. He said to
the lord St. John —

" Searched you well ? — but it boots not to ask that. It doth seem
passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip out of one's ken, and one
does not think it matter for surprise ; but how a so bulky thing as the
Seal of England can vanish away and no man be able to get track of
it again — a massy golden disk '' —

Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and shouted —

" Hold, that is enough ! Was it round ? - — and thick ? — and had it
letters and devices graved upon it ? — Yes ? O, noiv I know what this
Great Seal is that there's been such worry and pother about ! An' ye
had described it to me, ye could have had it three weeks ago. Right
well I know where it lies ; but it was not I that put it there — first."

" Who, then, my liege ? " asked the Lord Protector.

" He that stands there — the rightful King of England. And he
shall tell you himself where it lies — then you will believe he knew it
of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, my king — spur thy memory —
it was the last, the very last thing thou didst that day before thou didst
rush forth from the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish the soldier
that insulted me."

A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a whisper, and all
eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who stood, with bent head and
corrugated brow, groping in Ids memory among a thronging multitude
of valueless recollections for one single little elusive fact, which, found,
would seat him upon a throne — unfound, would leave him as he Avas,
for good and all — a pauper and an outcast. Moment after moment
passed — the moments built themselves into minutes — still the boy
struggled silently on, and gave no sign. But at last he heaved a sigh,
shook his head slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a de-
spondent voice —

" I call the scene back — all of it — but the Seal hath no place in

CORONATION DAT.

377

it." He paused, then looked up, and said with gentle dignity, " My
lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob your rightful sovereign of his own
for lack of this evidence which he is not able to furnish, I may not stay
ye, being powerless. But" —

" O, folly, O, madness, my king ! " cried Tom Canty, in a panic,
" wait ! — think ! Do not give up ! — the cause is not lost ! Nor shall

UKTUIXK THEE, MY KING."

be, neither ! List to what I say — follow every word — I am going to
bring that morning back again, every hap just as it happened. We
talked — I told you of my sisters. Nan and Bet — ah, yes, you remem-
ber that ; and about mine old grandam — and the rough games of the
lads of Offal Court — yes, you remember these things also ; very well,
follow me still, you shall recall every thing. You gave me food and
drink, and did with princely courtesy send away the servants, so that
my low breeding might not shame me before them — ah, yes, this also
you remember."

378 CORONATION BAT.

As Tom checked off liis details, and the other boy nodded his head
in recognition of them, the great audience and the officials stared in
puzzled wonderment ; the tale sounded like true history', yet how could
this impossible conjunction between a prince and a beggar boy have
come about? Never was a company of people so perplexed, so inter-
ested, and so stupefied, before.

" For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. Then we stood
before a mirror ; and so alike were we that both said it seemed as if
there had been no change made — yes, you remember that. Then you
noticed that the soldier had hurt my hand — look ! here it is, I cannot
yet even write with it, the fingers are so stiff. At this your Highness
sprang up, vowing vengeance upon that soldier, and ran toward the
door — you passed a table — that thing you call the Seal lay on that
table — you snatched it up and looked eagerly about, as if for a place
to hide it — your eye caught sight of" —

" There, 'tis sufficient ! — and the dear God be thanked !" exclaimed
the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. " Go, my good St. John,
— in an arm-piece of the Milanese armor that hangs on the wall, thou'lt
find the Seal ! "

" Right, my king ! right ! " cried Tom Canty ; " now the sceptre
of England is thine own ; and it were better for him that would dis-
pute it that he had been born dumb ! Go, my lord St. John, give thy
feet wings ! "

The whole assemblage was on its feet, now, and well nigh out of
its mind with uneasiness, apprehension, and consuming excitement. On
the floor and on the platform a deafening buzz of frantic conversation
burst forth, and for some time nobody knew any thing or heard any
thing or was interested in any thing but what his neighbor was shout-
ing into his ear, or he was shouting into his neighbor's ear. Time —
nobody knew how much of it — swept by unheeded and unnoted. —
At last a sudden hush fell upon the house, and in the same moment

CORONATION BAY.

379

St. John appeared upon the platform and held the Great Seal aloft
in his hand. Then such a shout went up !

" Lung live the true King ! "

For five minutes the air quaked with shouts and the crash of
musical instruments, and was white with
a storm of waving handkerchiefs ; and
through it all a ragged lad, the most

conspicuous fig-
ure in England,
stood, flushed
and happy and
proud, in the cen-
tre of the spa-
cious platform,
with the great
vassals of the
kingdom kneel-
ing around him.

Then all rose, and Tom Canty cried out —

" Now, O, my king, take these regal garments back, and give poor
Tom, thy servant, his shreds and remnants again."

"long live the true king !"

380 CORONATION DAY.

The Lord Protector spoke up —

"Let the small varlet be stripped and flung into the Tower."

But the new king, the true king, said —

"I will not have it so. But for him I had not got my crown
again — none shall lay a hand upon him to harm him. And as for
thee, my good uncle, my Lord Protector, this conduct of thine is not
grateful toward this poor lad, for I hear he hath made thee a duke " —
the Protector blushed — "yet he was not a king; wherefore, what is
thy fine title worth, now? To-morrow you shall sue to me, through
him, for its confirmation, else no duke, but a simple earl, shalt thou
remain."

Under this rebuke, his grace the duke of Somerset retired a little
from the front for the moment. The king turned to Tom, and said,
kindly —

" My poor boy, how was it that you could remember where I hid
the Seal when I could not remember it myself?"

"Ah, my king, that was easy, since I used it divers da3^s."

"Used it, — yet could not explain where it was?"

" I did not know it was that they wanted. They did not describe
it, your majesty."

" Then how used you it ? "

The red blood began to steal up into Tom's cheeks, and he dropped
his eyes and was silerit.

" Speak up, good lad, and fear nothing," said the king. " How
used you the Great Seal of England ? "

Tom stammered a moment, in a ijathetic confusion, then got it out —

" To crack nuts with ! "

Poor child, the avalanche of laughter that greeted this, nearly
swept him off his feet. But if a doubt remained in any mind that
Tom Canty was not the king of England and familiar with the august
appurtenances of royalty, this reply disposed of it utterly.

CORONATION BAT.

381

Meantime the sumptuous robe of state had been removed from
Tom's shoulders to the kmg's, whose rags were effectually hidden
from sight under it. Then the coronation ceremonies were resumed;

TO CRACK NUTS WITH.

the true king was anointed and the crown set upon his head, whilst
cannon thundered the news to the city, and all London seemed to
rock with applause.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

EDWARD AS KING.

Miles Hendon was picturesque enough before he got into the riot
on London Bridge — he was more so when he got out of it. He had
but little money when he got in, none at all when he got out. The
pickpockets had stripped him of his last farthing.

But no matter, so he found his boy. Being a soldier, he did not
go at his task in a random way, but set to work, first of all, to arrange
his campaign.

What would the boy naturally do ? Where would he naturally
go ? Well — argued Miles — he would naturally go to his former
haunts, for that is the instinct of unsound minds, when homeless and
forsaken, as well as of sound ones. Whereabouts were his former
haunts? His rags, taken together with the low villain who seemed to
know him and who even claimed to be his father, indicated that his
home was in one or another of the poorest and meanest districts of
London. Would the search for him be difficult, or long? No, it was
likely to be easy and brief. He would not hunt for the boy, he would
hunt for a crowd ; in the centre of a big crowd or a little one, sooner
or later, he should find his poor little friend, sure ; and the mangy
mob would be entertaining itself with pestering and aggravating the
boy, who would be proclaiming himself king, as usual. Then Miles
Hendon would cripple some of those people, and carry off his little

385

386

EDWARD AS KING.

ward, and comfort and cheer him with loving words, and the two
would never be separated any more.

So Miles started on his quest. Hour after hour he tramped
through back alleys and squalid streets, seeking groups and crowds,
and finding no end of them, but never any sign of the boy. This

v' \ >

GKOUND

greatly surprised him, but did

not discourage him. To his notion, there was nothing the matter with
his plan of campaign ; the only miscalculation about it was that tlie
campaign was becoming a lengthy one, whereas he had expected it to
be short.

When daylight arrived, at last, he had made many a mile, and
canvassed many a crowd, but the only result was that he was tolerably
tired, rather hungry, and very sleepy. He wanted some breakfast, but
there was no way to get it. To beg for it did not occur to him ; as to
pawning his sword, he would as soon have thought of parting with

EDWARD AS KtNG. ■ 38T

Ms honor ; he conld spare some of his clothes — yes, but one could
as easily find a customer for a disease as for such clothes.

At noon he was still tramping — among the rabble which followed
after the royal procession, now ; for he argued that this regal display
would attract his little lunatic powerfully. He followed the pageant
through all its devious windings about London, and all the way to
Westminster and the Abbey. He drifted here and there amongst the
multitudes that Avere massed in the vicinity for a weary long time,
baffled and perplexed, and finally wandered off, thinking, and trying
to contrive some way to better his plan of campaign. By and by,
Avhen he came to himself out of his musings, he discovered that the
town was far behind him and that the day was growing old. He was
near the river, and in the country ; it was a region of fine rural seats

— not the sort of district to welcome clothes like his.

It was not at all cold ; so he stretched himself on the ground in
the lee of a hedge to rest and think. Drowsiness presently began to
settle upon liis senses ; the faint and far-off boom of cannon was wafted
to his ear, and he said to himself " The ncAv king is crowned," and
straightway fell asleep. He had not slept or rested, before, for more
than thirty hours. He did not wake again until near the middle of
the next morning.

He got up, lame, stiff, and half famished, washed himself in the
river, stayed his stomach with a pint or two of water, and trudged off
toward Westminster grumbling at himself for having wasted so much
time. Hunger helped him to a new plan, now ; he would try to get
speech with old Sir Humphrey Marlow and borrow a few marks, and

— but that was enough of a plan for the present ; it would be time
enough to enlarge it when this first stage should be accomplished.

Toward eleven o'clock he approached the palace ; and although
a host of showy people were about him, moving in the same direc-
tion, he was not inconspicuous — his costume took care of that. He

888 EDWARD AS KING.

watched these people's faces narrowly, hoping to find a charitable one
whose possessor might be willing to carry his name to the old lieu-
tenant — as to trying to get into the palace himself, that was simply
out of the question.

Presently our whipping-boy passed him, then wheeled about and
scanned his figure well, saying to himself, "An' that is not the very
vagabond his majesty is in such a worry about, then am I an ass —
though belike I was that before. He answereth the description to a
rag — that God should make two such, would be to cheapen miracles,
by wasteful repetition. I would I could contrive an excuse to speak
with him."

Miles Hendon saved him the trouble ; for he turned about, then,
as a man generally will when somebody mesmerizes him by gazing
hard at him from behind ; and observing a strong interest in the boy's
eyes, he stepped toward him and said —

" You have just come out from the palace ; do you belong there ? "

" Yes, your worship."

" Know you Sir Humphrey Marlow ? "

The boy started, and said to himself, " Lord ! mine old departed
father ! " Then he answered, aloud, " Right well, your worship."

"Good — is he within?"

" Yes," said the boy ; and added, to himself, " within his grave."

" Might I crave your favor to carry my name to him, and say I beg
to say a word in his ear ? "

" I will despatch the business right willingly, fair sir."

" Then say Miles Hendon, son of Sir Richard, is here without —
I shall be greatly bounden to you, my good lad."

The boy looked disappointed — " the king did not name him so,"
he said to himself — "but it mattereth not, this is his twin brother,
and can give his majesty news of 'tother Sir-Odds-and-Ends, I war-
rant." So he said to Miles, " Step in there a moment, good sir, and
wait till I bring you word."

EDWARD AS KING.

389

Hendon retired to the place indicated — it was a recess sunk in
the palace wall, with a stone bench in it — a shelter for sentinels in
bad weather. He had hardly seated himself when some halberdiers,
in charge of an officer, passed by. The officer saw him, halted his

" ARRESTED AS A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER."

men, and commanded Hendon to come forth. He obeyed, and was
promptly arrested as a suspicious character prowling within the pre-
cincts of the palace. Things began to look ugly. Poor Miles was
going to explain, but the officer roughly silenced him, and ordered
his men to disarm him and search him.

390 EDWARD AS KING.

" God of his mercy grant that they find somewhat," said poor
Miles ; " I have searched enow, and failed, yet is my need greater than
theirs.''

Nothing was found but a document. The officer tore it open, and
Hendon smiled when he recognized the " pot-hooks " made by his lost
little friend that black day at Hendon Hall. The officer's face grew
dark as he read the English paragraph, and Miles blenched to the
opposite color as he listened.

" Another new claimant of the crown ! '* cried the officer. " Verily
they breed like rabbits, to-day. Seize the rascal, men, and see ye
keep him fast whilst I convey this precious paper within and send it
to the king."

He hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the halber-
diers.

"Now is my evil luck ended at last," muttered Hendon, "for I
shall dangle at a rope's end for a certainty, by reason of that bit of
writing. And what will become of my poor lad ! — ah, only the good
God knoweth."

By and by he saw the officer coming again, in a great hurry ; so he
plucked his courage together, purposing to meet his trouble as became
a man. The officer ordered the men to loose the prisoner and return
his sword to him ; then bowed respectfully, and said —

"Please you sir, to follow me."

Hendon followed, saying to himself, " An' I were not travelling to
death and judgment, and so must needs economize in sin, I would
throttle this knave for his mock courtesv."

The two traversed a populous court, and arrived at the grand
entrance of the palace, where the officer, with another bow, delivered
Henclon into the hands of a gorgeous official, who received him with
profound respect and led him forward through a great hall, lined on
both sides with rows of splendid flunkies (who made reverential obei-

EDWARD AS KING. -391

sance as the two passed along, but fell into death-throes of silent
laughter at our stately scare-crow the moment his back was turned,)
and up a broad staircase, among flocks of fine folk, and finally con-
ducted him into a vast room, clove a passage for him through the
assembled nobility of England, then made a bow, reminded him to
take his hat off, and left him standing in the middle of the room, a
mark for all eyes, for plenty of indignant frowns, and for a sufficiency
of amused and derisive smiles.

Miles Hendon was entirely bewildered. There sat the young king,
under a canopy of state, five steps away, with his head bent down and
aside, speaking with a sort of human bird of paradise — a duke, maybe ;
Hendon observed to himself that it was hard enough to be sentenced
to deatli in the full vigor of life, without having this peculiarly public
humiliation added. He wished the king would hurry about it — some
of the gaudy people near by were becoming pretty offensive. At
this moment the king raised his head slightly and Hendon caught a
good view of his face. The sight nearly took his breath away! —
He stood gazing at the fair young face like one transfixed; then pres-
ently ejaculated —

" Lo, the lord of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows on his
throne ! "

He muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and marvelling ;
then turned his eyes around and about, scanning the gorgeous throng
and the splendid saloon, murmuring " But these are real — verily these
are real — surely it is not a dream."

He stared at the king again — and thought, " Is it a dream ? . . .
or is he the veritable sovereign of England, and not the friendless poor
Tom o' Bedlam I took him for — who shall solve me this riddle ? "

A sudden idea flashed in his eye, and he strode to the wall, gath-
ered up a chair, brought it back, planted it on the floor, and sat
down in it !

392

EDWARD AS KING.

A buzz of indignation broke out, a rough hand was laid upon
and a voice exdaimed, —

" Up, thou mannerless clown ! — wouldst
in the presence of the king?"

The disturbance attracted his maj-
esty's attention, who stretched forth his
hand and cried out —

" Touch him not, it is his right ! "

him.

The throng fell back,
stupefied. The king went
on —

"■ Learn ye all, ladies,
lords and gentlemen, that this is
my trusty and well beloved ser-
vant. Miles Hendon, who interposed his
good sword and saved his prince from
bodily harm and possible death — and for
this he is a knight, by the king's voice.
Also learn, that for a higher service, in that he saved his sovereign
stripes and shame, taking tliese upon himself, he is a peer of England,

EDWARD AS KING. 393

Earl of Kent, and shall have gold and lands meet for the dignity.
More — the privilege which he hath just exercised is his by royal
grant ; for we have ordained that the chiefs of his line shall have and
hold the right to sit in the presence of the majesty of England hence-
forth, age after age, so long as the crown shall endure. Molest him
not."

Two persons, who, through delay, had only arrived from the
country during this morning, and had now been in this room only five
minutes, stood listening to these words and looking at the king, then
at the scare-crow, then at the king again, in a sort of torpid bewilder-
ment. These were Sir Hugh and the Lady Edith. But the new
Earl did not see them. He was still staring at the monarch, in a
dazed way, and muttering —

" O, body o' me ! This my pauper ! This my lunatic ! This is
he whom I would show what grandeur was, in my house of seventy
rooms and seven and twenty servants ! This is he who had never
known aught but rags for raiment, kicks for comfort, and offal for
diet ! This is he whom / adopted and would make respectable !
Would God I had a bag to hide my head in ! "

Then his manners suddenly came back to him, and he dropped
upon his knees, with his hands between the king's, and swore allegi-
ance and did homage for his lands and titles. Then he rose and
stood respectfull}^ aside, a mark still for all eyes — and much envy,
too.

Now the king discovered Sir Hugh, and spoke out, with wrathful
voice and kindling eye —

" Strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, and put him
under lock and key till I have need of him."

The late Sir Hugh was led away.

There was a stir at the other end of the room, now ; the assemblage
fell apart, and Tom Canty, quaintly but richly clothed, marched down,

394

EDWARD AS KING.

between these living walls, preceded by an usher. He knelt before
the king, who said —

"I have learned the story of these past few weeks, and am well
pleased with thee. Thou hast governed the realm with right royal
gentleness and mercy. Thou hast found thy
mother and thy sisters again ? Good ; they
shall be cared for — and thy father shall

STRIP THIS ROBBER

hang, if thou desire it and the law
consent. Know, all ye that hear my
voice, that from this day, they that
abide in the shelter of Christ's Hos-
pital and share the king's bounty, shall have their minds and hearts
fed, as well as their baser parts ; and this boy shall dwell there,
and hold the chief place in its honorable body of governors, during
life. And for that he hath been a king, it is meet that other than
common observance shall be his due; wherefore, note this his dress

EBWARB AS KING.

395

of state, for by it he shall be known, and none shall copy it ; and

wheresoever he shall come, it shall remind

the people that he hath been royal, in his

time, and none shall deny him his

due of reverence or fail to give -^

''kjim'f^^-^

xr'

salutation

•'TOM ROSE AKD KISSED THE KING'S HAND."

throne's protection, he hath the crown's support, he shall be known
and called by the honorable title of the King's Ward."

The proud and happy Tom Canty rose and kissed the king's hand,
and was conducted from the presence. He did not waste any time,
but flew to his mother, to tell her and Nan and Bet all about it and
get them to help him enjoy the great news.^

1 See Notes to Chapter 33 at end of the volume.

CONCLUSION.

JUSTICE AND RETRIBUTION.

When the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by confession
of Hugh Henclon, that his wife had repudiated Miles by his command,
that day at Hendon Hall — a command assisted and supported by the
perfectly trustworthy promise that if she did not deny that he was
Miles Hendon, and stand firmly to it, he would have her life ; where-
upon she said take it, she did not value it — and she would not repudi-
ate Miles; then the husband said he would spare her life but have
Miles assassinated ! This was a different matter ; so she gave her
word and kept it.

Hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing his brother's
estates and title, because the wife and brother would not testify against
him — and the former would not have been allowed to do it, even if
she had wanted to. Hugh deserted his wife and went over to the
continent, where he presently died ; and by and by the earl of Kent
married his relict. There were grand times and rejoicings at Hendon
village when the couple paid their first visit to the Hall.

Tom Canty's father was never heard of again.

The king sought out the farmer who had been branded and sold
as a slave, and reclaimed him from his evil life with the Ruffler's
gang, and put him in the way of a comfortable livelihood.

He also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted his fine.
He provided good homes for the daughters of the two Baptist women

399

400 JUSTICE AND RETRIBUTION.

whom he saw burned at the stake, and roundly punished the official
who laid the undeserved stripes upon Miles Hendon's back.

He saved from the gallows the boy who had captured the stray
falcon, and also the woman who had stolen a remnant of cloth from a
weaver ; but he was too late to save the man who had been convicted
of killing a deer in the royal forest.

He showed favor to the justice who had pitied him when he was
supposed to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratification of seeing
him grow in the public esteem and become a great and honored man.

As long as the king lived he was fond of telling the story of his
adventures, all through, from the hour that the sentinel cuffed him
away from the palace gate till the final midnight when he deftly
mixed himself into a gang of hurrying workmen and so slij^ped into
the Abbey and climbed up and hid himself in the Confessor's tomb,
and then slept so long, next day, that he came within one of missing
the Coronation altogether. He said that the frequent rehearsing of
the precious lesson kept him strong in his purpose to make its teach-
ings yield benefits to his people ; and so, whilst his life was spared he
should continue to tell the story, and thus keep its sorrowful spectacles
fresh in his memory and the springs of pity replenished in his heart.

Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favorites of the king, all
tlirough his brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died. The
good earl of Kent had too much sense to abuse his peculiar privilege ;
but he exercised it twice after the instance we have seen of it before
he was called from the world ; once at the accession of Queen Mary,
and once at the accession of Queen Elizabeth. A descendant of his
exercised it at the accession of James I. Before this one's son chose
to use the privilege, near a quarter of a century had elapsed, and the
" privilege of the Kents " had faded out of most people's memories ;
so, when the Kent of that day appeared before Charles I and his
court and sat down in the sovereign's presence to assert and perpetu-

JUSTICE AND RETRIBUTION. 401

ate the right of his house, there was a fine stir, indeed ! But the
matter was soon explained, and the right confirmed. The last earl
of the line fell in the wars of the Commonwealth fighting for the
king, and the odd privilege ended with him.

Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, white-haired
old fellow, of grave and benignant aspect. As long as he lasted he
was honored ; and he was also reverenced, for his striking and peculiar
costume kept the people reminded that " in his time he had been
royal ; " so, wherever he appeared the crowd fell apart, making way
for him, and whispering, one to another, "Doff thy hat, it is the King's
Ward!" — and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return —
and they valued it, too, for his was an honorable history.

Yes, King Edward VI lived only a few years, poor boy, but he
lived them worthily. More than once, when some great dignitary,
some gilded vassal of the crown, made argument against his leniency,
and urged that some law which he was bent upon amending was gentle
enough for its purpose, and wrought no suffering or oppression which
any one need mightily mind, the young king turned the mournful
eloquence of his great compassionate eyes upon him and answered —

" What dost thou know of suffering and ojjpression ? I and my
people know, but not thou."

The reign of Edward VI was a singularly merciful one for those
harsh times. Now that we are taking leave of him let us try to keep
this in our minds, to his credit.

KOTES.

Note 1. — Page 50.

Chrisfs Hospital Costume.

Tt is most reasonable to regard the dress as copied from the costume of the
citizens of London of that period, when long blue coats were the common habit of
apprentices and serving-men, and yellow stockings were generally woi'n ; the coat
fits closely to the body, bvit has loose sleeves, and beneath is worn a sleeveless
yellow under-coat ; around the waist is a red leathern girdle ; a clerical band
around the neck, and a small flat black cap, about the size of a saucer, com-
pletes the costume. — Timbs' " Curiosities of London.''''

Note 2.— Page 53.

Tt appears that Christ's Hospital was not originally founded as a school;
its object Avas to rescue children ixom the streets, to shelter, feed, clothe them,
etc. — Timbs'' " Curiosities of London.'"

Note 3. — Page 67.

The Duke of Norfolk's Condemnation Commanded.

The King was now approaching fast towards his end; and fearing lest Nor-
folk should escape liini, he sent a message to the Commons, by which he desired
them to hasten the bill, on pretence that Norfolk enjoyed the dignity of earl
marshal, and it was necessary to appoint another, who might officiate at the
ensuing ceremony of installing his son Prince of Wales. — Hume, vol. iii. p. 307.

Note 4. — Page 91.

Tt was not till the end of this reign [TIenry VTII] that any salads, carrots,
turnips, or other edible roots were produced in England. The little of these

405

406 NOTES.

vegetables that was iised, was formerly imported from Holland and Flanders,
(iueen Catherine, when she wanted a salad, was obliged to despatch a messenger
tliither on purpose. — Hume's History of England, vol. iii. p. 314.

Note 5. — Page 100.

Attainder of Norfolk.

The house of peers, without examining the prisoner, without trial or evidence,
passed a biU of attainder against him and sent it down to the commons. . .
The obsequious commons obeyed his [the King's] dii-ections ; and the King, having
aflBxed the royal assent to the bill by commissioners, issued orders for the execu-
tion of Noi'folk on the morning of the twenty-ninth of January, [the next day.]
— Hume's England, vol. iii. p. 306.

Note 6. —Page 120.

The Loving- Cup.

The loving-cup, and the peculiar ceremonies observed in drinking from it,
are older than English historj'. It is thought that both are Danish importations.
As far back as knowledge goes, the loving-cup has always been drunk at English
banquets. Tradition explains the ceremonies in this way : in the rude ancient
times it was deemed a wise precaution to have both hands of both di'inkers
employed, lest while the pledger pledged his love and fidelity to the pledgee
the pledgee take that opportunity to slip a dirk into him !

Note 7. — Page 129.

The Duke of Norfolk's Narrow Escape.

Had Henry VIII survived a few hours longer, his order for the duke's execu-
tion would have been carried into effect. " But news being carried to the Tower
that the King himself had expired that night, the lieutenant deferred obeying the
warrant ; and it was not thought advisable by the Coiincil to begin a new reign
by the death of the greatest nobleman in the Kingdom, who had been condemned
by a sentence so unjust and tyrannical." — Hume's England, vol. iii. p. 307.

NOTES. 407

Note 8. —Page 171.

The Whipping-Boy.

James I and Charles II had whipping-boys, when they were little fellows, to
take their punishment for them when they fell short in their lessons ; so I have
ventured to furnish my small prince with one, for my own purposes.

Notes to Chapter XV. — Page 192.
Character of Hertford.

The yoimg king discovered an extreme attachment to his uncle, who was, in the
main, a man of moderation and probity. — Hume's England, vol. iii. p. 324.

But if he [the Protector] gave olfence by assuming too much state, he deserves
great praise on account of the laws passed this session, by which the rigor of former
statutes was irmch mitigated, and some security given to the freedom of the con-
stitution. All laws were repealed which extended the crime of treason beyond the
statute of the twenty-fifth of Edward III ; all laws enacted during the late reign
extending the crime of felony ; all the former laws against Lollardy or heresy,
together with the statute of the Six Articles. None were to be accused for words,
but within a month after they were spoken. By these repeals several of the most
rigorous laws that ever had passed in England were annulled ; and some dawn, both
of civil and religious liberty, began to appear to the people. A repeal also passed of
that law, the destruction of all laws, by which the king's proclamation was made
of equal force with a statute. — Ibid., vol. iii. p. 339.

Boiling to Death.

In the reign of Henry VIII, poisoners were, by act of parliament, condemned to
be boiled to death. This act was repealed in the following reign.

In Germany, even in the 17th century, this horrible punishment was inflicted
on coiners and counterfeiters. Taylor, the Water Poet, describes an execution he
witnessed in Hamburg, in 1616. The judgment pronounced against a coiner of false
money was that he should " be boiled to death in oil ; not thrown into the vessel at
once, bnt with a pulley or rope to be hanged imder the armpits, and then let down
into the oil bg degrees : first the feet, and next the legs, and so to boil his flesh from
his bones alive." — Dr. J. Hammond TrumbuWs ''Blue Laws, True and False," p. 13.

408 NOTES.

The Famous Stocking Case.

A WOMAN and hei- daughter nine years old, were hanged in Huntingdon for sell-
ing their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling off their stockings ! —
Ibid., p. 20.

Note 10. — Page 214.

Enslaving.

So young a king, and so ignorant a peasant were likely to make mistakes —
and this is an instance in point. This peasant was suffering from this law by antici-
pation ; the king was venting his indignation against a law which was not yet in
existence : for this hideous statute was to have birth in this little king's own reign
However, we know, from the humanity of his character, that it could never have
been suggested by him.

Notes to Chapter XXHI. — Page 285.
Death for Trifling Larcenies.

When Connecticut and New Haven were framing then- first codes, larceny above
the value of twelve pence was' a capital crime in England — as it had been since the
time of Henry T. — Dr. J. Hammond TrnmhidVs " Blue Laws, True and False," p. 17.

The curious old book called " The English Rogue " makes the limit thirteen
pence ha'penny ; death being the portion of any who steal a thing " above the value
of thirteen pence ha'jienny."

Notes to Chapter XXVH. — Page 317.

From many descriptions of larceny, the law expressly took away the benefit of
clergy; to steal a horse, or a hawk, or woollen cloth from the weaver, was a hanging
matter. So it was, to kill a deer from the king's forest, or to exj^ort sheep from the
Kingdom. — Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull's "Blue Laws, True and False," p. 13.

William Prynne, a learned bai-rister, was sentenced — [long after Edward the
Sixth's time] — to lose both his ears in the pillory; to degradation from the bar;
a fine of £3,000, and imprisonment for life. Three years afterwards, he gave new
offence to Laud, by publishing a pamphlet against the hierarchy. He was again
prosecuted, and was sentenced to lose ivhal remained of his ears; to pay a fine of
£5,000; to be branded on both his cheeks with the letters S. L. (for Seditious Libeller,)
and to remain in prison for life. The severity of this sentence was equalled by the
savage rigor of its execution. — Ibid., p. 12.

NOTES. 409

Notes to Chapter XXXTTT. —Page 395.

Christ's Hospital, or Blue Coat School, " the Noblest Institution in the
World."

The ground on which the Priory of the Grey Friars stood was conferred by
Henry the Eighth on the Corporation of London, [who caused the institution there
of a home for poor boys and girls.] Subsequently, Edward the Sixth caused the
old Priory to be properly repaired, and founded within it that noble establishment
called the Blue Coat School, or Christ's Hospital, for the education and maintenance
of orphans and the children of indigent persons. . . . Edward would not let him
[Bishop Ridley] depart till the letter was written, [to the Lord Mayor,] and then
charged him to deliver it himself, and signify his special request and commandment
that no time might be lost in proposing what was convenient, and apprising him
of the proceedings. The work was zealously undertaken, Ridley himself engaging
in it ; and the result was, the founding of Christ's Hospital for the Education of Poor
Children. [The king endowed several other charities at the same time.] "Lord
God," said he, " I yield thee most hearty thanks that thou hast given me life thus
long, to finish this work to the glory of thy name ! " That innocent and most
exemplary life was drawing rapidly to its close, and in a few days he rendered up
his spirit to his Creator, praying God to defend the realm from Papistry. — J.
Heneage Jesse's '■'■London, its Celebrated Characters and Places.'''

In the Great Hall hangs a large picture of King Edward VI seated on his
throne, in a scarlet and ermined robe, holding the sceptre in his left hand, and
presenting with the other the Charter to the kneeling Lord Mayor. By his side
stands the Chancellor, holding the seals, and next to him are other officers of state.
Bishop Ridley kneels before him with uplifted hands, as if supplicating a blessing on
the event; whilst the Aldermen, etc., with the Lord Mayor, kneel on both sides,
occupying the middle ground of the picture ; and lastly, in front, are a double row
of boys on one side, and girls on the other, from the master and matron down to
the boy and girl who have stepped forward from their respective rows, and kneel with
raised bands before the King. — Timbs' " Curiosities of London," p. 98.

Christ's Hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privilege of addressing the
Sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming iiito the City to partake of the
hospitality of the Corporation of London. — Ibid.

The Dining-Hall, with its lobby and organ-gallery, occupies the entire story,
which is 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high ; it is lit by nine large windows,

410 NOTES.

iilled with stained glass on the south side; and is, next to Westminster Hall, the
noblest room in the metropolis. Here the boys, now about 800 in number, dine ;
and here are held the " Suppings in Public," to which visitors are admitted by tickets,
issued by the Treasurer and by the Governors of Christ's Hospital. The tables are
laid with cheese in wooden bowls ; beer in wooden piggins, poured from leathern jacks ;
and bread brought in large baskets. The official company enter ; the Lord Mayor,
or President, takes his seat in a state chair, made of oak from St. Catherine's Church
by the Tower; a hymn is sung, accompanied by the organ ; a " Grecian," or head boy,
reads the prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three drops of a wooden
hammer. After prayer the supper commences, and the visitoi's walk between the
tables. At its close, the " trade-boys " take up the baskets, bowls, jacks, piggins, and
candlesticks, and pass in procession, the bowing to the Governors being curiously
formal. This spectacle was witnessed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845.

Among the more eminent Blue Coat Boys are Joshua Barnes, editor of Anacreon
and Euripides ; Jeremiah Markland, the eminent critic, particularly in Greek litera-
ture ; Camden, the antiquary ; Bishop Stillingfleet ; Sanmel Richardson the novelist ;
Thomas Mitchell, the translator of Aristophanes ; Thomas Barnes, many years editor
of the London Times ; Coleridge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt.

No boy is admitted befoi'e he is seven years old, or after he is nine ; and no boy
can remain in the school after he is fifteen, King's boys and " Grecians " alone
excepted. There are about 500 Governors, at the head of whom are the Sovereign
and the Prince of Wales. The qualification for a Governor is payment of £500. —
Ibid.

GENERAL NOTE.

One hears much about the " hideous Blue-Laws of Connecticut,"' and is accustomed to
shudder piously tohen they are mentioned. There are people in America — and even in
England! — loho imagine that they were a very monument of malignity, pitilessness, and
inhumanity; whereas, in reality they tvere about the first sweeping departure from
.JUDICIAL ATROCITY wMch the '■^ civilized" world had seen. This humane and kindly
Blue-Law code, of two hundred and forty years ago, stands all by itself, with ages of
bloody law on the further side of it, and a century and three-quarters of bloody English laio
on THIS side of it.

NOTES. 411

There has never been a time — under the Blue-Laws or any other — when above
FOURTEEN Crimes loere punishable by death in Connecticut. But in England, within the
memory of men who are still hale in body and mind, two hundred and twenty-three
crimes were punishable by death !^ These facts are worth knowing — and worth thinking
about, too.

1 See Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull's " Blue Laws, True and False," p. 11.

FINIS.

CENTRAL CIRCULATION
CHILDREN'S BOOM

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